Must be Tuesday
by Julia9
Summary: *Complete* Set a few years after season 6, Buffy and Spike are together...but since Sunnydale is the Hellmouth, nothing can ever go as planned.
1. Good Morning

Rain fell steadily outside the house on Revello Drive, black clouds rolling ominously through the gray sky. Inside her bedroom, Buffy Summers groaned as her alarm clock blared the morning's headlines, jarring her from the comfortable realm of sleep. Inching her hand out from beneath the down- filled comforter, she swatted the clock's switch into the off position. Without moving her legs that were firmly intertwined with those of the man beside her, she propped her head against her hand, resting her elbow on the pillow. Her free hand grazed his pale muscled chest, her fingers tracing every contour of is upper body. She sighed, drinking in the sight of his charcoal black lashes casting small shadows against his impossibly high cheekbones. His platinum curls had loosened during the night and several unruly strands covered his forehead; in sleep, he looked almost innocent. She gently pushed one curl off his forehead, moving it back into the tangled mess atop his head.  
  
He made a low rumbling sound deep inside his chest that could only be classified as purring, when her hand began to caress the corded muscles in his arm. Buffy smiled, tracing idle patterns over his skin, watching his face for any sign of wakefulness. The feather light touch dragged Spike from sleep, a slow smile spreading across his lips when he felt the warm arm draped over his chest. He opened his ice-blue eyes lazily, purring softly with contentment. Even in the dim shadows of the room he could see Buffy's shining blonde hair. The long curls cascaded over her bare shoulders, her green eyes staring intently into his as her coral lips parted in a soft smile. Spike lifted his head casually, "morning gorgeous," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. Pulling her petite body against his, Spike gently kissed her, his hands holding her close.  
  
After several moments, Buffy broke the kiss, her eyes turbulent. "Aren't you ever scared that this is going to end? Because hey, mortal here, no eternal life on Earth." Spike's eyebrows knit together in confusion, his mind still in the hazy realm of sleep. His coherent thoughts were limited to the beautiful woman beside him, not on the mysteries of the universe and eternal life. He reached out to stroke her cheek tenderly, "I'll never stop loving you, pet." Buffy smiled for an instant before her face took on a pensive frown. "Spike, that's not what I'm saying," she began hesitantly. "What are you saying," he asked, his voice taking on an unmistakable edge that thickened his accent to an almost predatory growl. The question fell into the air, caught in the tension that had somehow invaded the quiet bedroom.  
  
Buffy made no move to answer her lover; instead she kissed his forehead gently and rolled to the other side of the bed, leaving Spike staring at her back in confusion. "Buffy, is something wrong," Spike asked, propping his back against the wooden headboard. Buffy still didn't answer him; she simply swung her legs off the edge of the bed, her feet sinking into the plush blue carpet. "I have to take a shower," she murmured, raking a hand through her tangled blonde hair. Spike watched her retreating back before falling against the pillows. "Women," he muttered ruefully. No matter how old he was, the opposite sex still remained an enigma.  
  
Padding down the hall, her bare feet sticking to the wooden floorboards, Buffy shook her head sympathetically. It wasn't Spike's fault that she asked him crazy questions at six-thirty on a Tuesday morning. At least he knew enough not to press her, after so many years together, Spike had finally learned when to keep his mouth shut. Closing the bathroom door firmly, Buffy pressed her head against the oak door and sighed loudly. It had been four years since Spike had moved in with her, and she had never regretted extending the invitation. He was the best thing in her life, the only constant source of love that she could hold onto with both hands. At the age of 25, Buffy had surpassed everyone's expectations of the Slayer; most Chosen warriors never lived passed twenty and Buffy had no plans to die anytime soon. She was truly a history-making Slayer, both in her calling and in her personal life. No Slayer had ever been romantically involved with two vampires, and she was the first one to have been retired from duty at the age of twenty-two.  
  
Sometimes her friends still could not believe that she was in a relationship with Spike, the platinum blonde vampire who had spent over a century causing havoc in the world. There were days when she didn't even believe it, despite the thick curtains over her windows and the omnipresent containers of blood in her refrigerator. Ironically, it had been one of Willow's botched spells that had brought them together. The redhead's Tabula Rasa memory spell had opened Buffy's amnesia-stricken mind to another image of Spike. Something had changed between the mortal enemies when the spell was lifted, life no longer seemed as black and white as Buffy would have preferred. For the first time, she saw Spike as a man with feelings, not just another soulless creature of the night. The spell had jumped started their relationship, and after a few months Buffy had shocked her friends by forcing them to embrace her and Spike as a couple. It had taken some getting used to, but Spike soon begrudgingly joined the Scoobies, another member of the family. After so much time together, Buffy couldn't remember what it was like to not have him beside her.  
  
As the hot water poured into the shower, Buffy thought about the dream that had plagued her all night and had prompted her morning grilling of Spike. She was running through a graveyard, chasing something, her hair flying wildly through the air. As the chase pressed on, her breath was coming in ragged gasps and her heart had tightened painfully in her chest, the burning pain in her muscles was sheer agony, but she couldn't stop running Then the dream changed and she was on the ground, her face pressed into the wet grass, dirt filling her nose and mouth as she struggled to breath. She could feel the waves of pain crushing her petite body, she had never been so afraid in her entire life. It was like her entire world was collapsing and she was powerless to stop it. When Buffy has woken up, her face was wet with tears, her shoulder shaking uncontrollably.  
  
That was why she had asked Spike if he was scared of the end. Of course, that was a ridiculous question to ask a 126-year-old vampire. For Spike, death was already a distant memory; he had lived for decades with no regard for the years that passed before his eyes, there was always enough time. The opposite was true for Buffy; she had spent years wondering if every battle was her last. Years as the Slayer hadn't given her a lot of practice in planning for the future, she was used to living one day at a time, never sure when her time would end.  
  
She shut off the water abruptly and stood in the empty bathtub, shivering as the heat left the room, a slight chill brushing over her glistening skin. Trembling with a cold that was deeper then flesh, Buffy grabbed a towel off the rack and wrapped it tightly around her body. There was a numbness within her that seeped into the depths of her soul, a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that refused to go away. Rubbing a plush towel roughly though her wet hair, Buffy slowly brushed out the knots, examining her face in the mist-framed mirror. Her look had toned down in the last few years, since opening her own fashion design company in the building where Joyce's old gallery had stood. After securing a salary from the Council of Watchers and borrowing some money from Giles, Buffy had founded Luster. The company had taken off immediately, and Buffy was still getting used to keeping normal office hours in a real office building.  
  
The bedroom was deserted, thin slivers of sunlight peeking through the heavy navy blue drapes. She turned on the light, dropping her bath-towel on the tan comforter, glad that Spike had made the bed. Mildly disappointed that her blonde vampire had gone downstairs before they could continue their discussion, Buffy sighed softly. Pushing open her closet doors, she surveyed the mass of clothes with a critical eye, searching for something to wear. Designer labels jumped off every hanger, shirts and pants taking up every available inch on the wooden racks. Sweaters in a myriad of colors filled the top shelf, perched precariously against a sloping pile of purses. Hundreds of shoes littered the floor, making use of every available inch. The closet was only a small testament to Buffy's financial prosperity, her entire house seemed to glow with an inner beauty to was a tribute to her decorating talent and plump bank account.  
  
Backing out of her closet, she stood before the mirror that hung over her dresser. Running a silver brush through her still damp tendrils, she turned on the straightener before reaching for her hairdryer. She grabbed a thick section of her hair, beginning the daily fight against frizziness and flyaway strands. Once Buffy was satisfied that her hair was as straight as it was going to get, she pulled on the green button-down shirt that Spike swore made her eyes glow like emeralds. Slipping into her favorite black pants, Buffy hopped around the room, pulling on her socks and her ankle- high boots simultaneously. She dumped the contents of her make-up bag onto her dressers, rummaging through the small pile for her thin tube of concealor. As she dabbed the cream on her under-eye circles, Buffy thought about how domesticated her Big Bad vampire had become.  
  
Spike had opened his own real estate business four years ago and was incredibly successful. His clients were primarily harmless and misplaced demons who had wandered onto the Hellmouth in search of a place to live. The road from antagonist to agent had been purely accidental; he had set Clem up in a deserted crypt and through word of mouth the blonde vampire was soon inundated with dozens of demons, all wanting a new home. He had worked out of his old crypt for two years until Dawn had introduced him to the wonders of the Internet. Now, Spike conducted ninety percent of his business over the web, only venturing out for special clients. Willie's bar now had a few computers in the back room, and Sunnydale's demon population could now find a new home without braving the wrath of the Slayer or Spike. Since the real-estate business didn't satisfy Spike's short-attention span, he spent hours dabbling in the stock market, fascinated by the constant rise and fall of prices. Buffy was so proud of her un-dead entrepreneur, between the two of them, they had the best in everything and were able to give Dawn the kind of family she deserved.  
  
The smell of bacon frying brought Buffy back to the present moment. She blended her blush and put it back into the bag, putting a tube of lipgloss from the dresser top into her pocket. Buffy smiled at her reflection, picking up her jewelry, mostly gifts from Spike. It still amazed her how much thought and time her vampire lover put into buying her jewelry. The ruby and diamond ring had been from their first Christmas, the diamond earrings from her twenty-first birthday, a white gold ring with their names engraved inside had been her anniversary gift last year, and the heart- shaped diamond pendant was from their second Valentine's Day together. Dawn had given her the thin white-gold bracelet for some birthday several years ago, and the tiny silver watch had been found in Joyce's carved jewelry box. Pleased with her appearance, Buffy tossed her air, loving the way her diamond earring sent tiny rainbows of light dancing across the room. Humming softly to herself she walked downstairs to see what damage Spike was causing in the kitchen, her bad dreams almost completely forgotten.  
  
Sunlight spilled into the living room, providing sharp contrast to the shadowy kitchen. Spike stood behind the central island, pouring coffee into a bright pink mug, a loose cotton shirt covering his sculpted chest. He set the coffee aside, filling the second mug with a thick garnet liquid as something sizzled on the stove behind him. "Morning," Buffy said with a wide smile, snatching her coffee cup off the tiled surface before sliding onto a bar stool. Spike returned her smile with one of his signature smirks before turning back to the stove, not wanting the pancakes to turn into a singled mass of charcoal. Propping her chin on her hands, Buffy watched him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. No matter how suburbanized Spike had become, he still insisted on dark clothes, leaning more towards charcoal gray and navy blue instead of ebony black and blood red. This morning, he had on all black and Buffy smiled appreciatively at the view granted to her by the tight jeans.  
  
Sliding everything from pans onto an empty plate, Spike picked up a glass of cranberry juice with flourish and whisked the plate down in front of Buffy. "Breakfast is served, sweetheart," he said, bending down to kiss her lips tenderly. Buffy murmured appreciatively, glad that Spike loved to cook, her own culinary skills were limiting to microwaving and boiling water. "Eat up ducks, you don't want to miss the first non-singed meal of the week," Spike teased gently. Buffy just smiled, reaching for her coffee, her mind elsewhere. She has a meeting outside of Sunnydale in two hours and with traffic, her commute was going to take forty-five minutes. Spike looked at his Slayer sideways, he could always read her like a book and time had done nothing to make her less transparent. She looked preoccupied, he thought, watching the way her fork hovered above the pancakes, not really seeing the food before her. "Buffy, you alright luv," he asked, taking a long sip of blood, his thick accent a mixture of concern and adoration. She nodded absently and Spike decided to drop the subject. When Buffy got moody it was better if he just kept his mouth shut, anything else resulted in broken bones or being forced to sleep on the couch.  
  
They continued the rest of the meal in comfortable silence, each one lost in thoughts and memories. A smirk tugged at the corners of Spike's mouth as he watched his Slayer eat her bacon, wiping the meat in the left-over trail of syrup on her plate. Even though another Chosen warrior had been called, he still thought of Buffy as his Slayer, the affectionate nickname reminding them of how their saga began. They still patrolled occasionally, whenever Spike was craving a spot of violence or Buffy needed to let out some excess aggression, so the name was well-deserved. Cleaning her plate gratefully, Buffy stared into Spike's blue eyes; she could get lost inside those cerulean depths, just watching the emotions flicker through them. "You're too good to me," she said, putting her slightly sticky dish into the sink, "what'd I do to deserve you?" Spike lifted his scarred eyebrow, tipping his head thoughtfully. "I dunno, you're just lucky, pet," he said, his voice taking on the serious tone that he normally reserved for lecturing Dawn about her schoolwork or dating habits. Breaking into a wide smile, he continued, his tone playful, "though I think I got the better end of that deal. Get to wake up next to you every morning, don't I?"  
  
Buffy blushed red, "and you said you were an awful poet," she muttered in disbelief. He chuckled, "I was," his eyes dancing with laughter, the way they always did when he was teasing her. Buffy kissed his cheek, "thanks for breakfast," she said, moving towards the door, "I love you." No matter how many times said those three words, Spike couldn't stop his eyes from lighting up. It had taken so many months to break down the walls she had built around her heart, so many weeks to reassure her that he wasn't going to run out on her like every other important man in her life. "Love you too," Spike said, dangling her car keys off the edge of his finger, waiting for her to realize that she had forgotten them again.  
  
Snatching her leather briefcase off the kitchen table, Buffy began to open the door when Spike's arms wrapped around her waist. "Forgetting something, pet," he teased, pressing the keys into her hands. Buffy giggled, turning around to face him, "thanks," she said, kissing him playfully. His arm still around his waist, Spike reached behind him to pick up her bottle of cranberry juice. "Didn't remember this either," he said, pressing it into her free hand. "Thanks babe," Buffy murmured before sailing out the door, wondering where her head was that morning. Her blonde hair fanned out behind her, catching the early-morning rays of sunlight as she made her way through the backyard towards the driveway.  
  
She unlocked her royal blue Jeep Grand Cherokee, throwing her briefcase onto the passenger seat and securing her juice in the cup holder. Flipping down the visor, she grabbed a CD that Dawn had burned for her. Now a freshman at Berkley, the younger Summers sister always made a point to send Buffy burned CDs. She claimed that Buffy needed to listen to something besides Spike's punk rock. Buffy turned the key in the ignition with her right hand, feeding the CD into the player with her right. Snapping her seatbelt closed, she threw the car into reverse, humming idly in that off- handed way that seemed to quell some of the tension that was weighing heavily on her mind. She knew what she had to do, she knew what she wanted, she just didn't know how to share her news with the people she loved. Buffy hated making decisions without being able to talk to anyone, especially Spike. The vampire had been her confident as well as her lover for so long that she wasn't used to keeping secrets from him. 


	2. Another Day at Work

Buffy's tires squealed as she pulled into the parking lot of her office building. Her morning meeting with her company's lawyer had gone well, getting her day off to a positive start. Breathlessly, she removed the key from the ignition and began to grab all the papers she had thrown atop her briefcase. She had just stepped out of the car, her briefcase finally in order when she ducked back in to pull out the still unopened bottle of juice. Locking her door, Buffy walked through the front doors of Luster. She absolutely loved the way light spilled through her high-ceilings and the five skylights she had begged Xander to install, it gave the foyer a warm and inviting feeling. Her cranberry juice in hand, Buffy walked across the entranceway to the elevator bay, not in the mood to walk up to her office.  
  
The elevator was making its slow ascent when Buffy's purse let out a shrill ring. She rummaged through it with one hand, searching for her cell phone. Glancing at the number, she smiled before answering the call. "Willow! How are you," Buffy trilled into the silver phone. On the other side of California, Willow Rosenberg adjusted her Venetian blinds so brilliant sunlight shone into her Los Angeles office. Now a computer game designer, Willow's work kept her busy in the city and the two friends hardly ever had enough time to talk. Even though they talked weekly, there was always something else going on, so they snatched whatever precious minutes they had to catch up with the other.  
  
"Nothing," the cheery red-head replied, rifling her hands through her shoulder length hair, "I was just sitting here and decided to see how life on the Hellmouth was treating you." Buffy raised a perfectly arch brow, but didn't press her friend for a more elaborate explanation. They hadn't talked in a few weeks and she still had forty minutes before her next meeting, plenty of time to catch up with her best friend. "So how's Tara feeling," Buffy asked, wondering how Willow's wife was handling pregnancy. Sitting down in her office, Willow leaned back in her chair, eyes dancing with excitement. "She's awesome, all glowy and beautiful. It's so surreal to think that we're actually having a baby. I mean he won't be here for another four months, but still," she squealed happily. Buffy smiled at Willow's excitement, "so she's still teaching?" Her best friend nodded, "yeah, she's going to finish out the year and then take an extended leave. I keep telling her to take it easy, but you know Tara.she can't bear to leave those kids unless she absolutely has to."  
  
They chatted for a few more minutes before Willow could steer the conversation into a new direction. "Anyway Buffy, the real reason that I'm calling is that the word on the Internet is that some small business owner from Southern California is going to be working on costumes for David Bucan's new Broadway show." Buffy giggled, "and I suppose you think I know something about that," she asked, feigning ignorance. On the other end of the phone, Willow sighed, "well, I heard that she's some fashion designer who started her own line..and then I keep hearing all these rumors about David Bucan and how he's trying to get her out to New York so she can work on his show." Unable to contain her laughter, Buffy collapsed in her desk chair, giddy with excitement, "yeah, can't trust those rumors," she teased. Willow shrieked in astonishment, "I knew it was you! I knew it!! Why didn't you tell me? I mean Buffy, this is huge, bigger then huge, it's astronomical. David Bucan is bigger then Andrew Lloyd Weber, for God's sake! That's so amazing!"  
  
Buffy smiled as she walked down the bright corridor to get another cup of coffee, her cell phone still attached to her ear. "Yeah, it's really exciting," she chirped, "but it's all so sudden. I mean, I've only been in business for like four years, not even. And now this is just out of nowhere.I just got the contract in the mail yesterday but it's all moving so fast." Willow broke in excitedly, "what does Spike think?" Buffy's smile faded instantly and her voice lost some of its confidence. "He doesn't know," she whispered softly.  
  
"What?!" Willow screeched so loudly that Buffy had to move the phone away from her air to save her hearing. Hurriedly, the blonde fashion designer struggled to defend her decision, "it's just that we would have to move to New York and that's a lot to ask of him. So I was waiting for the right time to tell him. I'm taking him to dinner tomorrow night and I'll tell him then. I just wanted to make sure that everything was definite before getting him all excited. But I'm going to tell him, I just need to wait a few more hours." She paused for an instant, "Willow you have to swear not to tell anybody, not even Tara. I don't want the whole world to find out before Spike does."  
  
The redhead smiled, she understood Buffy not wanting to get Spike worked up until the actual contract had been signed; the peroxide blonde vampire didn't accept change well, he hadn't changed his hair or clothing style in over two decades. "Of course I won't tell anyone Buffy, but you better tell Spike soon. The rumors are flying all over the Internet and everyone wants to know more about you. This is like instant stardom! It's so great!" Buffy smiled at her friend's enthusiasm, her cheeks blushing from the profuse compliments. Grimacing at the three blinking phone lines on her desk phone, Buffy sighed heavily into the cell phone. "Wills I gotta get going, you know, go to work like the adult I am," she quipped dryly. "I'll call you next week and we can talk more," she continued, opening her e-mail inbox to reveal ninety-three unread message. Turning back to her own computer screen, Willow answered, "bye Buffy. And congratulations on the job."  
  
Twenty minutes later, Buffy leaned back in her chair and sighed, the overstuffed leather cushioning her exhausted muscles. She had been answering phone calls since hanging up with Willow and the few seconds of silence were a welcome reprieve. Her body felt like it had run a marathon in the last two days and her emotions were stretched to their limit. The entire situation with David was overwhelming and coupled with her strange dreams, Buffy felt completely drained. "I'll go home early today," she murmured, "what I need is a hot bath and a glass of wine." The telephone rang, jarring Buffy from her thoughts. On reflex she reached out for the receiver without even opening her eyes. "Hello," she growled, her voice low. The puzzled voice on the other end asked, "Ms. Summers? This is David. David Bucan. I hope this isn't an inconvenient time."  
  
Buffy shot straight up in her chair, her eyes fully open and alert. "Yes, Mr. Bucan, I'm here. No, this time's perfect. What can I help you with," she asked. The five minute conversation seemed like pure fluff compared to most of Buffy's business conversations. David was making sure that her lawyer had received the contract; he wanted to check and see that everything was in legal order. After assuring him that the signed contract was being mailed out that afternoon, Buffy had chatted with the producer about her upcoming transition from California to the Big Apple.  
  
When she hung up the phone, a faint smile played over her lips as she thought of David, whom she had only met twice. He was thirty-six, a little over six feet tall, with thinning sandy-colored hair that complimented his broad frame. They had been introduced by one of David's choreographers who lived in Los Angeles and had discovered Buffy's designs in a local boutique. Buffy hadn't actually remembered the producer when he had called her office two weeks ago; he was just another face that she had breezed past during one of the many black-tie dinners thrown by her colleagues. She still couldn't believe that she, Buffy Summers, was going to be working with one of the biggest names in Broadway.  
  
The rest of the day seemed to pass in a blink as Buffy approved sketches and made even more phone calls. Glancing at the clock on her computer, she gasped when the digital numbers read 6:56. She gathered up her papers, stuffing them into her briefcase, pleased with her progress. "Time to go home," she said, shutting down the computer and turning off all the small lamps. She had made arrangements to move all of her belongings out to New York. David had put in a good word with a high-rise building in the City and Buffy had spent the better part of an hour discussing her new apartment. Money wasn't an issue but she wanted to live conservatively, at least until this job felt more permanent. She had also arranged to have the vice president of the company step up in her absence, keeping Luster based out of Sunnydale. With a sense of satisfaction, Buffy threw away her unopened bottle of cranberry juice, mentally running through her list of things to do. "Everything's almost done," Buffy whispered under her breath as she turned off her office light. The only thing left was to tell Spike. 


	3. Saying Goodbye

The tires of her Jeep squealed as Buffy turned onto Revello Drive and careened into her driveway. Grabbing her briefcase, she dashed up the driveway, anxious to talk to Spike. Her excitement was making Buffy giddy and she was bouncing with anticipation, she couldn't wait to share her good news with the man she loved. The front door swung open and immediately the smell of burning food assaulted her nose. "Spike," she called into the empty house. She hurried into the kitchen where bubbling pots and a smoking stove confronted her. Buffy threw open the window and turned the heat off under the pots. She propped open the stove and fanned the smoke out the window, searching for her peroxide blonde vampire. She shrugged out of her leather jacket, draping it over a nearby kitchen chair. Running her hands wearily through her rapidly curling hair, she sighed deeply.  
  
With the potential fiasco contained, Buffy wandered out the open back door, stepping out onto the wooden porch. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth-these steps held so many memories: time spent with her mom and Dawn, Scoobie meeting, and moonlit talks with Spike. The darkness enveloped Buffy as she crossed her arms against the slight chill in the May air. She was so overwhelmed with memories that she overlooked Spike; he was lurking in the shadows, the orange tip of his cigarette glowing in the blackness. Taking a long drag on the white filter, he flickered a burning ember in Buffy's direction, stepping from the shadows, "evening pet." Buffy leapt up in surprise, "dammit Spike, why do you always insist on scaring me like that?" The vampire didn't answer but continued to take long pulls on his burning cigarette, casually releasing puffs of smoke into the air.  
  
The shadows danced over his face, giving Spike an eerie handsomeness. Buffy tilted her head to one side, waiting for him to begin the conversation, even though she was going to tell him about the new job tonight rather then later she still didn't want to just blurt it out. Hs mouth was set in a hard line and his eyes glittered dangerously, but the darkness concealed all this from the woman beside him. Spike flicked the butt away, his voice deadly calm, "funny thing happened 'bout half an hour ago, some bloke called looking for you. Said his name was David and he wanted to know when you were having the moving van sent over. Now imagine my surprise when he starts explaining that you're moving to New York, something about a new job and all that rot." Stepping closer to Buffy, Spike gripped her arms tightly, his hands vice-like bands of steel around her bicep. "Been doing a little day-lighting on the side, pet," he spat, his stormy eyes the only crack in his stoic face.  
  
Releasing Buffy, he stuffed his hands deep in the pockets of his duster, his face set in harsh lines as he stared off into the darkness. Buffy stared at Spike in shock, not sure how to react. She opened her mouth to explain but his upraised hand cut her short. "I think I deserve an explanation Buffy. I mean these life-altering decisions should take priority, but then that's just typical Slayer mentality, isn't it? You think about yourself and the rest of the world is supposed to roll over and follow along. I thought we were past all that but I guess I was wrong. Don't know why I though this would be any different. I was a daft prick to think that you would include me in this decision. Can't say I'm surprised though, I was wondering how long this was going to last. Now I get what you were babbling about this morning, you were trying to get the courage to tell me, pet."  
  
He spat out the last word and Buffy's face paled at Spike's bitter tone. The anger was so pronounced in his voice that she recoiled as though he had physically slapped her. Slowly, her initial shock gave way to anger-how dare Spike, of all people, judge her like that. When Buffy broke the silence, her voice had an icy tone and her eyes were glowing with rage. "How dare you," she growled, "how dare you attack me about this? I was going to tell you Spike! This all just happened so fast." Spike snorted but Buffy plunged recklessly ahead, "This is the opportunity of a lifetime and if you would just listen to me, I could explain everything. I know I should have told you sooner, but everything just picked up and has this momentum and all the sudden it went from negotiating salary to choosing a color for my apartment's bathroom." She drew in a deep breath, giving Spike an opening to leap back into the conversation. His voice was harsh and biting, reminiscent of Spike's early days in Sunnydale.  
  
"Oh, I understand Slayer. I understand perfectly. You saw something you wanted and you took it, regardless of the ramifications. That's so typical, you just jump in head-first and sort out the details later. Did you ever stop for a moment to think about someone other than yourself? But I suppose that's too much to ask from the Chosen One." Buffy stared at Spike in disbelief, never in all their years together had Spike been so cold and caustic towards her. When he stepped back into the light, she was shocked to see the hatred in his eyes. The waves of anguish radiating from him, and she reached out towards him, her diamond ring catching a gleam of light from the porch lantern. Spike pulled back as if her touch would burn his pale flesh, he refused to meet her imploring gaze.  
  
"After all this," he muttered, his voice rough with anger and betrayal, "I thought this was permanent.you and me, a nice domestic couple.together, forever. But that's just nonsense. I should've seen it coming." He turned back to Buffy, unshed tears glittering in his eyes, "enjoy yourself, luv. I hope it's worth it." Buffy watched as he sauntered down the porch steps, his black duster swinging as he jumped over the last step and vanished into the darkness. As soon as he hit the tree line, he took off in a dead run, determined to get as far away as possible.  
  
Panic seized Buffy, he couldn't leave her. Of all the people she had ever let into her heart, Spike was her constant, the one who would never walk away. Years ago when their relationship was still new, he had promised that he would never leave. She reached out into the fog that was slowly covering the backyard, but Spike had already moved beyond the tree line. "Shit," Buffy swore, tears stinging her eyes and dampening her cheeks. Her hear felt like it was being squeezed in half, but one thought was racing through her mind-Spike. "I can't lose him," she whispered, "I just can't." Darting down the steps, Buffy took off across the backyard in the direction Spike had gone. The fog made the spring night seem even more ominous as the Slayer chased her vampire.  
  
Her breath was coming in ragged gasps as Buffy scoured the graveyards, searching for Spike. Buffy had eased out of her rigid training schedule after the new Slayer took over, and she felt out of shape as she darted from crypt to crypt. The fog covering the graveyard made her search even more difficult. Her eyes strained for any sign of the blonde vampire, every fiber in her being yearning for a signal that Spike was nearby. Buffy continued to run through the grass, her heart beating dangerously fast, her lungs burning from a lack of oxygen. Where is he, she thought, darting between the headstones as the cool air chilled her tear-stained cheeks.  
  
She was so engrossed with her pursuit that Buffy failed to notice the tree root sticking out of the uneven ground. Her boot caught in the tree, sending the former Slayer flying onto the damp ground. Dirt filled her nose and mouth as she shivered, struggling to catch her breath. The realization that she had lost Spike was consuming her, Buffy remained on the ground, her tears soaking into the Earth. Her body convulsed with sobs, the pain of her broken heart overwhelming her.  
  
Spike stood in the shadows, his leather duster billowing behind him in the faint breeze. Tears stung his eyes but he forced himself to remain stoic. He could hear Buffy, his enhanced vampiric senses were highly attuned to every sound she made. Swallowing hard over the lump in his throat, he struggled to resist crossing the cemetery and cradling his Slayer in his arms. Nothing made Spike fall to pieces fast then the sight of his love's tears, it took all of his self-control to hide in the shadows. A large part of him wanted nothing more than to hold Buffy tightly and forget their silly argument, but the sense of abandonment coupled with his male pride would not allow it. Spike closed his eyes in an effort to block out the mental image of Buffy crying alone on the wet grass. He blew a kiss into the air and whispered, "I'm sorry pet."  
  
Buffy deserved a chance at happiness, real happiness, not the half-assed façade that she was living with him. Right now that happiness seemed to be waiting for her in New York and he wasn't going to be responsible for holding her back. Realistically Spike knew that their unusual relationship would only be a distraction to her. He only wanted his golden goddess to be happy and for the first time in years he didn't feel capable of providing that. The thick fog and inky blackness of the night enveloped Spike as he strode out of the cemetery, his unbeating heart breaking with every step. 


	4. City Girl?

Time slipped by unnoticed, the changing of the seasons passing in an instant. Slowly the years performed their terrible dance; memories began to fade, pain began to recede, and life moved on. The pictures still held the memories, happy time captured in an instant and bound for an eternity. Here was their legacy, the people they used to be, when adulthood and responsibility were just a blip on the radar screen. That was how she realized how much time had passed. The pictures were changing, from candid shots of couples to wedding pictures of new spouses to professional portraits displaying happy and smiling families. They changed from images of best friends relaxing on the beach with long-winded message penned on the back to snapshots from family vacations, accompanied by a hastily scrawled note.  
  
It had been three years since Buffy had moved into the penthouse and she was still in awe of how perfect it was for her. The transition from California to New York had been difficult, she hated leaving her friends and nearly a decade worth of memories behind. She had been pleasantly surprised when she had finally settled in to the penthouse, it was an ideal size, just the right number of rooms so she didn't feel cramped. Even though it was already furnished, she had added her own touches over the years, giving every room her distinctive signature.  
  
Her penthouse was filled with pictures, hundreds of photos chronicling her life and the lives of those she loved. Every table held at least one framed photo and large frames were prominently displayed on nearly every available wall. Each room was filled with its own pictures, grouped together because they amused her or reminded her of something. The frames and the photos always matched the tone of the room, thin metal in the bedroom, fine glass in the study, thick wood in the dining room, black and white modern designs in the kitchen, delicate silver in the bathroom. The glass coffee table in the den was buried under five enormous albums, the most current pictures displayed prominently. An entire bookshelf in the study was devoted to her other albums, so many pictures, so many memories.  
  
It wasn't just the pictures that gave the Manhattan penthouse a feeling of home. Plush area carpets covered the wooden floors and lightly layered curtains softened the high windows, allowing maximum amounts of light to stream in. Various awards were tacked on the walls along with magazine articles citing her as a "leader in the fashion industry," a "modern day muse," the "answer to the buyer's prayers," and as "the breath of life fashion needed". The penthouse was a mixture of classic and modern, old and new, a perfect balance. Strange sculptures from Giles accented lonely corners and exotic plants from Tara brightened the window ledges. Antique furniture like her desk were blended seamlessly with her overstuffed sofa and matching ottoman. Bright colors helped to enlarge the rooms, giving the penthouse a warm and inviting feeling.  
  
The sunlight was bursting into the bedroom when the alarm clock went off, the interruption of music jarring her from the comforting realm of sleep. Buffy pushed back the blankets and smiled lazily. It was Sunday, her one day to relax, and she was pleased to see the sun shining into her bedroom. The rain that had been plaguing Manhattan for the last three days had finally relented, leaving blue skies overhead. She swung her feet onto the hard-wood floor and slowly stretched her arms over her head. Absently she hit the alarm clock, silencing the radio and stepped out of bed, savoring the soft rug under her toes.  
  
The light reflected off neighboring buildings and shone into her bedroom, making her squint as she padded down the hall to the kitchen. Turning on the coffee pot, Buffy surveyed the calendar that hung on the kitchen wall. A dozen colors of marker brightened the large pad, each color signifying another appointment or event. She glanced at the refrigerator, buried under sheets of to-do lists and reached for the one marked "Sunday" that read "Buy milk. Get nails done. Start Christmas shopping." Buffy smiled and turned her attention back to the coffee. She poured the water and left the pot to simmer, walking into the sunken living room.  
  
Padding across the living room, Buffy turned on the stereo system and listened as the music filled her penthouse. She shuffled through her music collection and not finding anything soothing, she began to turn the dial of the radio until a particular song stopped her. The piano was so sad and melancholy but appealed to Buffy in the early morning light. Even though she never listened to country music, the tone of the song seemed to fit with her mood, wistful and filled with memories. The female voice wafted through the speakers as Buffy sank into the couch, her mind drifting back to the past, to a life she had left behind.  
  
Unbidden, tears sprang to Buffy's eyes as the song played on in the background. The vision popped into her eyes, black leather and blonde hair. In her mind's eye, she could see his turbulent blue eyes, chiseled cheekbones, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. She could see him standing on the porch, his duster swirling gently with the wind as he looked out into the darkness. Spike, she thought, I wonder how he is. The memory of their last argument was still clear in Buffy's mind. They hadn't talked to each other since that night on the porch, and she hadn't really thought about him in years. Buffy had sold everything from her house on Revello Drive, there were too many memories, too much emotional baggage to bring into a new life. She had loved and lost so many people in Sunnydale; three years ago, it seemed like a good idea to start fresh in New York, with no reminders of her failed romance. As Buffy floated amid her turbulent past, the song played on relentlessly in the background, adding to the melancholy mood.  
  
She had occasionally thought about calling Spike but had never gotten up the courage. The days turned to weeks and there never seemed to be enough time to call her undead ex-lover. Buffy had convinced herself that there was nothing she needed to say to him. She had made everyone around her believe that it was over between the; as the years passed she had gotten wrapped up in her own game of pretend. After a while it became easier to think of Spike as the unfeeling jerk who left her, rather then the lover she had pushed away by not being honest.  
  
The truth hurt and Buffy didn't allow herself to think about it. No amount of talking or analyzing could change what had happened, Spike was gone and she was powerless to get him back. She had placated herself with the thought that Spike would hold a grudge against her, he would hate her for the pain she had caused in his life. Throwing herself into her work, Buffy ignored the dull ache in her heart that refused to go away; after a few months, the ache turned to a numbness that Buffy pushed to the furthest edge of her being. Over the last three years, she had tried everything to convince herself that she and Spike were never meant to be; they were darkness and light, living in two different worlds where the lines could never be blurred. "It never would have worked out anyway," she told anyone who would listen, trying to convince herself along with her audience. Eventually she started to believe the lies she was feeding to her friends and family. She had pushed away everything that reminded her of the life she had left behind in Sunnydale, anything that made her think of Spike; that chapter in her life was closed and she needed to move on with her life.  
  
Dawn still talked to him occasionally; he had sent a graduation card to her little sister last spring. The bold Victorian script stood out amongst the sea of brightly colored envelopes covered in bubbly letters. Buffy had turned the card over in her hands, searching for trace of Spike; yearning for something would break the walls that hid her memories of their affair, but all she felt was the coarse paper beneath her tanned fingers. She knew that Dawn probably had an address for the vampire but Buffy's wounded pride wouldn't allow her to ask. Now that Dawn was working towards her master's degree in Colorado, the two sisters didn't get to talk as much as they used to. There was hardly an opportunity to ask about anything remotely personal, much less Buffy's former flame.  
  
It shouldn't have ended the way it did, Buffy thought, wrapping her arms around her slender waist. Through her thin bathrobe she could feel her protruding ribs. Another side effect of moving to the city was that she had become more waif-like then petite, but Buffy didn't seem to notice or care anymore. "This is crazy," she whispered, wiping her face with a shaky hand, "I haven't seen Spike in years and all the sudden I'm wallowing in memories." She reached for her coffee but the thoughts continued to assault her, "I drove him away," she said, her voice a wisp barely audible over the music, "I did this." Her nose reddened before more tears spilled down her cheeks. Getting off the sofa, Buffy wandered into the bedroom pausing to study her reflection in the hallway mirror. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes dull and her golden tan had faded to a pasty white. Licking her lips hesitantly, she pushed a few locks of hair behind her ear as she tried to overcome the crying jag that was ruining her morning.  
  
"It's been over for years," she said loudly, her voice quivering with pent- up emotions. The thoughts assaulted her, memories flying like daggers. All the facades she had created, all the lies she had hidden behind, they all seemed to collapse before her. She wasn't whole without Spike and somehow she could no longer ignore the gaping hole in her heart. Everyday since she had left California, she had been pretending that she was strong, that it didn't hurt to walk into an empty apartment everyday. No one could fill the void that Spike had left in her life, no one else could ever see her the way that he did. She had hidden away her feelings, building more and more walls around herself until it was too overwhelming. Buffy fell to the floor, sobbing bitterly for the man she had chased away, for the life she had destroyed, for the happiness that had eluded her. 


	5. His Decision

The moon was high overhead Monday night when the plane from California landed in New Jersey. Spike stepped off the airplane, surveying the hectic mess that was Newark International Airport. People moved like cattle, each searching for their own gate and destination. He looked around, half- expecting to see a familiar face, but knowing that he was utterly alone. "So this is the East Coast," Spike muttered to himself, running a hand through his unruly hair. The flight had been hellish, sitting for hours in a small cramped space with four hundred or so total strangers, breathing compressed air.  
  
Now Spike was in New Jersey. One of the most depressing places on Earth, he observed, making a characteristic snap judgment of the situation. "Why are you even here," he asked himself, as he joined the hundreds of other people all moving towards the baggage claim. Spike sighed in exasperation as he waited for his luggage to come out from the mysterious carousel-like apparatus. All of my life stuffed into two suitcases, that's pretty pathetic, Spike mused darkly. He still didn't know what had possessed him to pack up and travel across the country. For some reason, it just felt right and Spike knew he had wasted too much of his time playing the what-if game and second guessing his decisions.  
  
Outside the airport, the cloudy day had given way to a clear evening. The automatic doors hissed as Spike exited the terminal, pulling his duster tighter around his waist in an effort to ward off the bitter chill. "Bloody hell," Spike swore under his breath as he hailed a taxi. I don't even know what I'm doing, he thought, I turned out to be an even bigger poof than Angel. At least Angel never let her go, he added sadly, Buffy deserves something better than a wanker like me. The taxi driver turned around in the seat, "Where to sir," he asked in a nasal voice. "New York," Spike replied, "the Upper East Side." The cabbie nodded and pulled out of the parking deck as Spike stared blankly out the window, consumed by his broken heart.  
  
Spike reached into the pocket of his duster and pulled out his bulging wallet. Before leaving California he had liquidated his bank account and converted the assets into cash and gemstones. One entire side of his suitcase was stuffed with money and a few packets of diamonds. His briefcase was at his side, sitting on the seat next to him and the suitcase rested at his feet. He had all his possessions in these bags: blood, money, clothes, a laptop and some books for his poetic scribbling. All a bloke needs in life, he thought sardonically. Watching the bright lights of the city flash outside the cab window, Spike sighed deeply. I need a drink, he thought, something strong. Pushing that from his mind, he focused on the task at hand-Buffy.  
  
Fear filled Spike, so many doubts were swirling through his head that he didn't know whether this was the right decision or the dumbest thing he had ever done in his undead life. What if Buffy rejected him? What if she was involved with someone else? What if she hated him? Spike shook his head, he needed to make amends for what he had done. I am such a bloody fool, he thought bitterly. He had promised her that he would never leave, but instead of listening to her arguments Spike had left her with no explanation. Well, this is bloody marvelous, he thought angrily, I'm here on my hands and knees begging Buffy to take me back.  
  
The last few years had been torturous for the blonde vampire. He had tried to placate himself with the newspaper articles that showed Buffy's success, another reminder that he had made the right decision by ending their relationship. But somehow he knew that he was wrong. They were meant to be together, he yearned for Buffy's love and acceptance. If she wouldn't love him or if she couldn't love him, after all he had done to her, then Spike knew that his undead existence was worthless. Without Buffy he was only a shell of a man; she completed him, making him feel more alive then he had in centuries. Deep in the dark recesses of his mind, Spike knew that he wasn't in New York to force his love on Buffy. He was there for peace; he had finally broken down the walls of pride that had clouded his judgment for years. Spike wanted to see her; he needed to know if there was any chance that Buffy would forgive him.  
  
After their last argument, Spike had gone back to the house two days later. The curtains were drawn, the doors locked and there was a For Sale sign on the lawn. He had called Buffy who had hung up on him twelve times before turning off her phone. Xander had given him the key to the storage garage where Buffy had left all his things, the construction worker had thrown the key at Spike before threatening to stake him if he didn't leave immediately. After cleaning out the locker, Spike had left Sunnydale and hadn't looked back. He got an e-mail from Dawn a few months later, telling him that Buffy had moved to New York and was working with David Bucan. Dawn had begged Spike to make things right with Buffy, but had had just thanked Dawn for the information and ignored her request. They still talked occasionally, quick e-mails once every few months, just enough to keep Spike involved in her life. When Dawn had graduated college, she had begged Spike to come but he had declined, making up an excuse about business meetings in Europe. Spike knew that he wasn't really welcome and he couldn't bear to see Buffy again.  
  
Spike had followed Buffy's rise through the fashion world through magazine articles and television interviews. It was easier to pretend that she was living a better life without him, but after a while the dull ache became a fierce pain. He was proud of his Slayer but still missed her desperately. Now he was ready to swallow his pride and beg her forgiveness. Spike knew that if he didn't act soon, he would lose his chance to tell Buffy how much he loved her and how sorry he was.  
  
Hours of traffic passed by the window as Spike remained silent in the backseat of the taxi. When they crossed into Manhattan, the cabbie broke the silence. "You got an address, or you just want me to drop you off on the East Side?" Spike looked at him blankly then replied dully, "Just drop me off at a hotel, a nice one, no cheap one-night motels." The cabbie nodded and went back to driving. His job wasn't to talk to the passenger; he got paid to drive the cab. It wasn't any of his business where the guy got dropped off.  
  
Spike's watch read 1:34 am when he finally dropped his bags in his hotel room. His sleep-deprived brain was still on California time, refusing to let him unwind. Closing all of the drapes tightly, he placed the placard on the door handle that told the housekeeping staff to stay out of his way. He opened the mini-bar, pulled out a scotch and relished in the soothing burning sensation he experienced as the liquor traveled down his throat. His empty stomach growled and Spike grabbed a Nutri-Grain bar from his suitcase, not wanting to dip into his blood supply. He put five blood packets in the fridge, making a mental note to go out later and get more. Gradually, his eyelids drooped and Spike crashed on the bed without even undressing, the television playing an endless stream of infomercials. 


	6. Going Through the Motions, Alone

Buffy reached out from the depths of her flowered comforter and moved her hand towards the alarm clock. Eyes still closed, her hands missed the snooze button and instead connected with the edge of clock, sending it flying to the floor. "Dammit," Buffy swore as she sat up and opened her eyes to survey the damage. The alarm lay on the floor, still beeping relentlessly, but otherwise it was no worse for wear. Buffy pushed the off button and smiled grimly as she placed the clock back on her night table. Six am is too early for any normal person to be awake, Buffy thought. She stumbled sleepily into the bathroom muttering, "I need a cup of coffee." Without even bothering to turn on the lights, she dropped her pajamas on the tile floor before turning on the shower. As the steaming water cascaded over her body, Buffy mentally reviewed her day. She had an eight o'clock meeting with David and then a constant stream of morning appointments that were temporarily interrupted by her lunch meeting with the head of Galore, a fashion company that Buffy was taking over. She just had a few last- minute details to iron out with the lawyer in charge of handling the technical details of this merger.  
  
"Welcome to my life," Buffy sighed with exasperation, "meetings and phone calls. When do I get to design clothes?" She shook her head, talking to oneself was not a good sigh. It was something she had always associated with absent-minded people like Giles, not something she did. She stepped out of the shower, staring blankly at herself in the steam-covered mirror, "I need a life, when did I become such a workaholic?" The answer hung in the air, whispered from the dark recesses of her mind, "when Spike left you".  
  
"No!" Buffy screamed, slamming her fist down on the marble countertop. "I am not going to indulge in self-pity over an un-dead ex-boyfriend. I don't have time for it. I moved on. Besides, New York is full of interesting people, it's just a matter of time." She had wasted the better part of Sunday rehashing her past and was determined not to let it happen again. She didn't know whether she was trying to convince herself or if she was just trying to strengthen her externally detached persona. Even as Buffy got dressed, her words kept replaying through her mind and the thought keep coming up-If there were so many interesting people in New York, why hadn't she met anyone? Why was she still alone?  
  
Twenty minutes later, Buffy grimaced as she caught a glimpse of the kitchen clock. Hurriedly she poured her coffee into a travel mug as she gathered up her leather briefcase and purse. "Coat," she muttered, reaching into the closet for her leather duster-jacket, she corrected herself, not duster. The autumn air had a slight chill that made Buffy miss California even more. She could never get used to the weather in New York. Her first city winter was one of the most hellish experiences of her life, complete with driving in the ice and almost getting killed by a series of taxicabs. The sun was shining brightly when she left her building and Buffy debated between walking and taking a cab. A quick look at her watch confirmed that she needed to take a cab if she wanted to make a conference call with her accountant before her meeting with David.  
  
"Sod it," Buffy swore, "Susan can wait. No sense in wasting a beautiful morning just to go over tax returns." She was so involved in not getting mowed down by cars that Buffy didn't even notice her slip of the tongue. Over the last few years, British slang and swear words had made their way into her everyday vocabulary. Most people thought it gave her character although no one dared to tell her. In the fashion world, she was a mini- lioness, sweet with a fierce prowess that made her one of the most sought- after costume designers on Broadway.  
  
Buffy stopped at Starbucks to grab another cup of coffee before heading down the block towards her office. As she left the coffee house, a man with platinum blonde hair caught her eye. Buffy stood frozen to the spot, watching his retreating back; the sun shone against his white-blonde hair, a sharp contrast to his black jacket. "Sorry," Buffy muttered as she bumped into people. Snap out of it Buffy, you cannot do this to yourself again, she thought. It had taken her a long time to get over Spike and she couldn't afford to start dwelling on the past. I need to go out and get a life, Buffy thought, I need to stop thinking about vamps. There's a new Slayer and it's time for me to move on and start looking for a normal boyfriend-one with a heartbeat.  
  
The rest of Buffy's morning passed in a blur, she was moving on in auto- pilot, just going through the motions of another day. Right before lunch, David stuck his head in Buffy's door. "Hey Buffy," he said with a wide smile, his light brown eyes surveying her spacious office. "Oh, hi David. What are you still doing here? I thought you had a meeting with the choreographer this afternoon," Buffy said, her brow wrinkled in confusion. David chuckled at her expression, "Rodney pulled a muscle in his thigh, so I cancelled the meeting, there's no sense in trying to choreograph the act without a lead dancer." He leaned over her desk, his dark eyes staring intently at Buffy. "I was just stopping in to see if my favorite fashion queen wanted to go to lunch. Stephen's stuck at the studio with Lisa, so I have a reservation that will go to waste if you turn me down." Buffy looked back down at her papers, shuffling them around in an effort to avoid eye contact. She could only imagine the puppy-dog eyes he was sending in her direction.  
  
The last thing she wanted to do today was go to lunch with him. Ever since she had accepted his job offer and moved to New York, David had tried on numerous occasions to pursue a relationship with Buffy. He had dropped hints and most of their conversations ended on a flirtatious note. David was everything she should want in a guy but Buffy didn't want a relationship with him. He was her first friend in New York; she wanted to maintain that closeness without bringing all the emotional issues that accompanied a romance. Buffy was not ready to throw herself into the time- consuming, emotionally-draining world of dating.  
  
Her cheeks cracked with effort as she plastered on a fake smile, resisting the urge to throw things at the middle-aged producer. "David, thanks, but I had a really rough weekend and I have a ton of work to catch up on. So, how about a rain check?" His face fell a bit, but David plastered on the infamous smile that he used to win over reporters and critics; a smile that had little effect on Buffy. "Alright Buffy," he said, placing his hands on the edge of her oak desk so that their faces were inches apart. "How about dinner?" She shook her head, "thanks but no.I have way too much work to catch up on."  
  
David's eyes dimmed with disappointment. "Are you sure you're alright? You seem a little preoccupied," he pressed, his voice a low whisper. Buffy locked eyes with him for an instant, letting out a short laugh, "Oh, I'm fine. I just wanted to get Leo the sketches for the last scene by Thursday so I pushed everything else into the background for a couple of days. Now I've got some catching up to do. That's all, otherwise I'd take you up on that offer." She was careful to keep the sarcasm out of her voice; there was no sense in snapping at David, it wasn't his fault that she was still in love with someone else.  
  
Buffy turned back to her computer and kept typing an e-mail to Giles, trying to make it look like something important. "Alright Buffy, I'll just take a raincheck," David said as he left the office. When she finally broke from the keyboard, Buffy let out a sigh of relief, glad she had weaseled her way out of lunch. She wasn't ready to pretend that everything was perfect; for the first time in months, she didn't want to deal with someone else's opinions about how she should live her life. She was so tired of having to worry about everyone's expectations of her. Reaching for a file on her desk, Buffy turned back to her work, shutting out everything except the keyboard beneath her fingertips. 


	7. Unexpected Dinner Companion

The sun dipped low on the horizon as Buffy stared out the window, watching the light disappear behind towers of chrome and steel. She sighed quietly; the one thing she missed about being home was watching the sunset from her back porch. A smile danced over her face as the memories played like a silent film. She saw her and her mom sitting at the island in the kitchen, talking about the future while the sun filled the room with a rosy glow. Images of her and Dawn lying curled up on the back porch steps passed through her mind, Buffy's hand idly smoothing her sister's hair as they contemplated life on the Hellmouth. She saw Giles, taking off his glasses and sighing as he stared at the setting sun, searching for answers to give the girl he loved like a daughter. In her mind's eye she could see Willow and Tara in the kitchen, making dinner and sharing a private moment against the darkening sky while Xander and Anya argued on the steps, determined not to yell in the house and disturb the comfortable silence. "I wonder if the new owners sit on the porch and watch the sun set," Buffy asked the empty office, "if someone else finds comfort on those wooden steps, like we all used to." With that thought, she turned out the light in the office and walked out towards the cold New York air, her mind still lost in the not-so- distant past.  
  
The wind howled and whistled, whipping the long hem of his leather duster furiously. People filled the sidewalks, their cheeks red with cold as they hurriedly walked from one building to another. Everyone was in a hurry, they all had a direction and a purpose, no one walked idly here, there was always someplace to go, someone to see, something to do. He didn't mind the organized chaos of the city, it was alive with memories; since leaving the warm sanctuary of his hotel room, the thoughts had strengthened their assault on his emotionally wrought mind. Every time Spike came to the Big Apple, he was following a Slayer, first the one back in the seventies and now the one he still thought of as his own. This trip was different, it wasn't about one good day or one perfect moment; it wasn't even about him; this was all for her.  
  
Sometimes it seemed that no matter what he did, the past just kept following him. It was a constant thorn in his side, mocking shadows that reminded him of how far he had fallen. The last time he was in New York, Dru had dragged him up and down the subway, delighting in the flashing white lights and the loud noises. It was in those dark depths of the city that he had truly earned his reputation as the Slayer of Slayers. Now he was avoiding the subway lines, the train station, the imposing Cathedrals and all tattoo parlors; he didn't want to relive any of the things he had done here, over thirty years ago.  
  
The hotel room was too small for him, bright walls that seemed to inch closer together with every passing minute. As Spike lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, he had allowed himself to dwell on the past. It was torture; no matter how hard he tried everything came back to Buffy. Being in the City was having an effect on Spike, every moment that passed just strengthened his need to see her. No matter how much he tried to change and mold himself into this ideal Prince Charming meets Casanova with a little Superman mixed in, he kept coming back to the face he had hidden behind for decades. Every time he tried to make himself better, he only succeeded in building another layer to hide behind. Only this time he wasn't trying to cover the face of a scared Victorian poet with that of a violent bloodthirsty emotionally stoic demon. He was trying to reinvent himself, to become someone worthy of Buffy's love; Spike had spent three years trying to carve himself into someone she could be proud of, someone she could love. Furious with himself for wasting so much time brooding and waxing poetry, Spike had left the hotel. He wandered aimlessly through the city streets, he didn't know where he was going and he didn't care.  
  
The streets were filled with cars and the sidewalks were crowded for a weekday night. It was early, only a little after seven, but the pitch-black sky made it feel like it should be closer to midnight. Buffy shivered involuntarily as she strode purposefully out the glass doors that separated her office building from the outside world. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything in hours and Buffy turned down a nearby avenue, walking towards her favorite Italian restaurant, Amici. The family- owned restaurant was fairly empty, there were a few couples lingering over steaming plates of pasta and a large dinner party in the back room. Grateful to be out of the freezing cold, Buffy smiled at the hostess as she led the blonde to a corner booth.  
  
Buffy settled comfortably into the red leather seats, glancing out the menu absently, already knowing what she wanted. Her server, a young girl with black hair pulled back in a thick braid, placed a basket of bread on the table. "How are you Ms. Summers," Natasha asked, her dark eyes sparkling at the sight of one of her favorite customers. "Fine," Buffy replied with a warm grin; after coming to Amici for so long, all the staff knew her and the owners welcomed her like a member of their own family. "I'll have the fettuccine alfredo with a small house salad," Buffy said. "And a glass of white wine," she added as an afterthought. Natasha nodded and bustled quietly back to the kitchen to place her order.  
  
Outside, Spike was just about to go looking for a blood bank when the bright lights of Amici caught his eye. The restaurant was perched on a street corner, drawing Spike's attention as he leapt out of the path of an oncoming taxi. Shrugging his shoulders he pushed open the heavy glass door, little bells ringing as he walked into the restaurant. As the door whipped open, a blast of cold air drew the hostess's attention away from the waiter she had been flirting with. She smiled at the man who had just entered the restaurant, his leather jacket swirling behind him like a medieval cloak. Her eyes took in the stranger appreciatively, his platinum blond hair was mussed into soft curls, and his navy sweater accented his cobalt eyes. A knowing smirk danced over his lips, impossibly high cheekbones that were strikingly prominent as he locked eyes with her. The hostess licked her suddenly dry lips and attempted to compose herself as his British accent fell on her ears. "Table for one, luv, if that's not too much trouble," he said with a devilish smile. She nodded, nearly kicking the waiter in her haste to seat him. "Right this way," she stammered, eliciting a quiet chuckle from Spike. He surveyed the small restaurant, taking in the home- like atmosphere and the scattered tables of couples enjoying enormous bowls of food, as the hostess guided him to a leather booth.  
  
Buffy sipped the wine that had been brought to her table and closed her eyes, allowing her limbs to loosen. The wine seeped into her system, spreading warmth throughout her petite body and easing away hours of tension. She tore a corner off the bread and popped a piece into her mouth, savoring the tastes that enveloped her tongue. "This is what I needed," Buffy sighed as she surveyed the quaint scene from her booth that lined the perimeter of the restaurant. The dimmed lights added to the intimate and welcoming feel of the restaurant, diminishing the feelings of loneliness that had threatened to overwhelm the former Slayer.  
  
Stopping two tables behind Buffy, the hostess looked questioningly at the man behind her. "Is this alright," she asked, placing a wine list on top of the menu. Spike nodded, "it's fine luv, thanks." He waited until she had begun the trip back to her post before removing his duster. Sliding into the booth, he picked up the menu, studying it critically. Even though he didn't really need to eat, everything on the menu looked good. A dark- haired waitress interrupted his internal monologue. "Hi, welcome to Amici. My name is Natasha and I'll be taking care of you tonight. Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?" Spike smiled at Natasha and drawled, "Bourbon, on the rocks." She nodded, her smile widening at his throaty accent that completed his sexy aura. "I'll be right back with that." Before putting the order in at the bar, Natasha stopped at her other table, "the food'll be out in a minute or two," she told Buffy who nodded absently.  
  
Buffy's hands were clenched tightly under the table, her knuckles white from the tension. Her breath was coming in shallow gasps and she was struggling to cling to the last measure of self-control she had left. The stranger with a British accent sitting behind Buffy had successfully ruined her quiet evening. Instead of forgetting about her tattered past, the accent had only made her think of Spike. It was bad enough that she had stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk when a guy with platinum hair walks past, now every throaty British accent was enough to send her into emotional overload.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Buffy savagely tore a corner off the loaf of bread. She drained her wine glass in a long swallow. "I'm going to have a nice dinner even if it kills me," she muttered under her breath, "some random accent isn't going to break me apart. I'll just ignore him. I need an unromantic, non-tragedy stricken thought.Giles. Now there's something boring. Giles and his books, boring books, lots of boring books, research books, boring research.Scoobie research, Sunnydale, the Magic Box.research sessions, training sessions, patrol, Spi-." She stopped rambling when Natasha placed a small salad on the table. "Long day," she murmured, trying to think of someway to justify her insane behavior to the waitress who just smiled. Replacing the empty wine glass with a full one, Natasha moved on to her other table.  
  
She smiled at the waitress, but Natasha had already moved onto her other table. "Are you already to order," she asked, trying to avoid her customer's sapphire eyes in an effort to maintain her composure. "Yeah, I'll have the veal chop special, cooked very rare, and a salad," Spike said, "and another brandy." "Sure thing," Natasha said, scribbling down the order, "I'll go put that in and bring out some bread for you." Spike sipped his bourbon slowly, relishing in the familiar burning sensation as the liquor tore down his throat. His eyes flickered over the dining room, studying his fellow diners before falling on the woman in front of him.  
  
Caramel-blonde hair covered her shoulders in loose waves, a sharp contrast to the rich red of her sweater. Spike found himself wondering what who she was; there was something strangely familiar about her. For what felt like the thousandth time that day, his thoughts drifted back to Buffy. He looked down at the tabletop, concentrating on buttering a thick slice of bread. This woman was just another in a long line of blondes that Spike had mistaken for his golden goddess over the last three years.  
  
Absently, Spike reached into the pocket of his duster and removed a worn velvet box. Inside a large diamond winked back at him, sparkling brightly in the shadowy booth. "I'm trying Buffy," he whispered, "I'm trying to be the man you deserve." Spike had been carrying the engagement ring around for over a hundred years; it had belonged to his mother, one of the few things he had kept from his human life. The salad was placed in front of him, interrupting Spike's train of thought. Tucking the diamond back into his coat, he attacked the leafy greens drenched in balsamic vinaigrette dressing. He was tired of thinking about what could have been, it was easier to just focus on the present moment.  
  
Pushing the empty salad plate away, Spike couldn't stop himself from staring at the blonde in front of him. "Bugger this," he growled. At the risk of turning into a brooding ponce like his grand-Sire, Spike signaled to the waitress. Natasha hurried over to the table, "is everything alright?" He nodded, "yeah it's fine. I just had a question. That woman over there, do you know who she is?" Natasha beamed; she could just tell that they would make an adorable match. "It's just that she looks like some I knew and I was wondering." Spike took a sip of his bourbon, his eyebrows raised expectantly.  
  
"Why, that's Ms. Summers," Natasha said, casting a look in Buffy's direction. Spike's throat closed and he coughed violently, forgetting that he didn't need to breathe. "What did you say her name was," he whispered hoarsely, his blue eyes blazing with a thousand questions. The waitress's smile widened, "Ms. Summers, Buffy Summers." Spike's eyes widened in disbelief, he couldn't believe his luck. A thin smile curled the corners of his mouth, a plan already forming in Spike's mind. He had to make sure that he didn't ruin this perfect opportunity. "Alright luv, I'm going to need your help with this. The two of us, we used to be close a long time ago..but I ruined it. Think you could help me with a little favor?" Natasha nodded; the pain in his blue eyes was heart wrenching and his voice cracked with the emotional strain. "Send her a glass of champagne and a plate of strawberries. Put all the strawberries in a circle, the tips pointing in, and put a piece of chocolate in the center." The waitress nodded, "I'll go tell the cook right away. And who should I say it's from?" Spike smiled, "just bring it to her, I'll take care of the rest."  
  
Dropping the empty fork onto the plate, Buffy sighed with satisfaction. The fettuccine was phenomenal, everything at Amici was homemade and she hadn't ever had a bad meal. She swirled the remaining bit of wine, finishing the glass with a long swallow. The wine had worked its magic, warming Buffy to her inner-most core; she could feel the last of her tension melting into oblivion. Natasha suddenly appeared beside her table, scooping the dirty dishes out of Buffy's way, replacing them with a plate of strawberries and a fluted glass of champagne.  
  
Looking up questioningly, Buffy told her waitress, "I didn't order this." Natasha smiled, "I know. It's from the gentleman behind you. He said you would understand." Having delivered her message, the brunette disappeared into the recesses of the kitchen. Buffy stared at the dessert, a mixture of confusion and disbelief dancing over her face. There were seven ruby red strawberries arranged in a circle, with a piece of dark chocolate perched in the center. She smiled, instinctively sliding her heart-shaped pendant back and forth along the chain; it was just like a dessert Spike used to make for her. Every Valentine's Day or anniversary, he would bring out a bottle of champagne and present her with a plate of strawberries.  
  
She was so involved with her memories, nibbling absently on the fruit, that Buffy didn't notice the man beside her table until he cleared his throat quietly. Swiveling her head to look at him, her eyes widened with recognition. Struggling to swallow over the lump in her throat, she gazed incredulously at him. She had dreamt about this moment for years and now that it was here, she was frozen. All the color drained from her face, her green eyes standing out vividly against her pale skin.  
  
Spike smiled wanly, hesitating a moment before he broke the silence, not knowing whether Buffy was going to punch him or fall over in a faint. She continued to stare out at him, not believing that he was really in front of her. "Hello Buffy." The instant the words left his mouth, Spike kicked himself for his lack of eloquence. He hadn't seen Buffy in years and the first words out of his mouth were a simple greeting that didn't say anything.  
  
Tears spilled down Buffy's cheeks, she trembled slightly as she gripped the edge of the table. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him, afraid that she was trapped in some dream world. "Spike," she choked out, her voice shaky. She couldn't believe what was going on; pressing her lips together, she bit down on the inside of her cheek, trying to calm her ragged nerves. The muscles in Spike's jaw were clenching and unclenching furiously as he raked his brain for something to say. In his hotel room he had carefully rehearsed what he was going to say to Buffy, knowing exactly what he needed to say. At that moment, staring into the wide green eyes that he had been dreaming about, Spike was speechless. All his words were irrelevant.  
  
Not knowing what she was doing but tired of second-guessing herself, Buffy slid out of the booth. She stood in front of Spike, hesitating for a moment before she wrapped her arms around his neck. Spike stiffened at her touch, but slowly his arms found their way around her waist and his cheek came to rest against her blonde hair. Familiar scents surrounded them as the world faded away, leaving Buffy and Spike in the moment. Buffy inhaled the scent of leather and bourbon as Spike drank in her sweet citrus perfume.  
  
Amazingly Buffy hadn't tried to stake him, but Spike knew that she was a woman of many layers. There was a sea of turbulent emotions hidden under her calm exterior. His fingers tipped her chin up so that their eyes met; he needed to see if she was angry with him, if she hated him as much as he hated himself. Her eyes sparkled with tears, black mascara pooling at the corners. Brushing away the moisture with his fingertips, Spike moved his hand towards her shoulder. Buffy leaned into his embrace, pressing their bodies closer together. She opened her mouth, parting her lips slightly before tilting her head towards Spike. Tightening his arm around her waist, Spike closed the minuscule distance between them. His lips grazed gently over hers, a gentle caress that sent shivers down her spine. Buffy clung to him tightly, her kisses passionate and demanding.  
  
After what felt like an eternity without oxygen, Buffy reluctantly broke the kiss. She took a tentative step backwards, not realizing that she was clinging desperately to the lapels of his duster. The rational part of her brain was telling her to let go of Spike, but the alcohol-numbed portion was telling her to kiss now and talk later.  
  
The air was alive with electricity, emotions rolling off the couple in waves. Buffy melted into Spike's embrace, her body fitting perfectly against his. Wrapping a steadying arm around her waist, Spike gently pulled their bodies apart. "We should go somewhere more private and talk," he said, his eyes silently pleading with Buffy to not argue. She nodded, reaching backwards into the booth, patting the seat for her purse without breaking eye contact with Spike. Catching her arm before she knocked them both over, Spike pressed a few bills onto the table. "I've got it," he said quietly, helping Buffy into her coat. She was too shocked to do anything but follow his lead. 


	8. Truth Revealed

Leaving Amici, the couple was confronted with the cold winter air, making them both miss California even more. "My apartment's just a coupla blocks away," Buffy said, gesturing with her glove-covered hand, "it's not that far of a walk." Spike shrugged his shoulders, "lead the way." He was less concerned with the walk and more with her laissez-faire reaction to his sudden appearance in New York. They walked in silence towards Buffy's apartment, their bodies close but not touching. Spike's hands were tight fists in his pockets and Buffy's arms wrapped around her body, fighting off a chill that was deeper then the wind. She turned left with no warning, almost running into Spike. "it's up this block," she said with an apologetic smile.  
  
The vampire followed silently, stopping behind her when Buffy paused in front of a tall brick building. She let out a deep breath, "this is it," she said. Smiling at the doorman, Buffy fairly dragged Spike to the bank of elevators. They rode up to her floor in silence; Spike was still trying to figure out why she hadn't threatened his life, and Buffy was trying to decide whether she was doing the right thing by bringing him back to her apartment.  
  
Stepping off the elevator, Buffy led the way towards her door, searching for her keys. Unlocking the door, she stepped into the doorway before taking a step back towards Spike. "If you don't want to come in, I understand," she said, ready to pretend that she wouldn't be crushed if he refused. Spike narrowed his eyes, not ready to leave without telling her what he come to New York to say. She shook her head; dismissing the insecure worries, "Scratch that. Come in Spike." They walked inside, Buffy crossing the room to turn on more lights. Spike knew that he had to follow her lead; this was her territory, her terms applied here.  
  
Buffy stood in the center of the living room, rubbing her hands together, stuffing her gloves deep in the pockets of her coat. Pulling off the black leather, she tipped her head quizzically at Spike. "Are you going to stand there all night," she asked, her voice tired. Her green eyes were red- rimmed from being out in the bitter cold but were devoid of tears. Buffy was exhausted; she wanted nothing more then to sleep for twenty hours. Instead she found herself staring at Spike as he stood in her foyer like a lost puppy dog.  
  
A crushing sense of déjà vu passed over Spike, for an instant he was standing in her old house on Revello Drive. He was watching her descend the stairs, her blonde hair like spun gold against the white of her tee-shirt. Then she was standing in front of him, looking so lost and confused. He hadn't wanted to believe that she was real but she was; her friends had brought her back, given her a second chance at life. Long moments were spent just staring at each other, trying to gauge what their next move should be. Now he was in the same position, again an outsider in her life, consumed by his love and broken by their separation.  
  
Shaking his head, Spike looked around the living room, savoring the subtle hints of Buffy throughout. "This is nice," he said at the same time Buffy asked, "do you want a drink?" They stared blankly at each other, not sure what to say or do next. Spike broke the uncomfortable silence, "yeah, that'd be great." Buffy didn't answer; she made her way into the kitchen, dropping her coat on an armchair as she passed. "Sit down, make yourself comfortable," her voice ordered from behind the wall that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment.  
  
"Sure thing," Spike muttered under his breath, tossing his duster carelessly on the arm of the sofa. Icy darts of trepidation stabbed at the vampire and he sat stiffly on the edge of the seat cushion, a jungle cat poised to spring back at the first sign of hostility. Grateful for the few moments of solitude, Spike began to rack his brain for possible things to talk about. Unable to stay still, he began to pace the apartment, looking at the pictures that adorned every inch of empty space. The large pile of albums on the glass coffee table caught his eye and Spike settled back on the couch, carefully turning the wrinkled pages as he pretended to look involved in the pictures.  
  
Buffy crossed the den, balancing two tumblers and a dark bottle of whiskey in her arms. She ignored Spike's raised eyebrow, setting the tumblers down on the coffee table with a thud. Twisting the bottle cap, she poured a generous amount of liquor in each before offering one to Spike. He accepted, swirling the amber liquid around in the bottom of the glass before taking a long swallow. The alcohol burned a familiar path down his throat; he knew that getting drunk wasn't going to fix things with Buffy but anything was better then the awkward silence. Buffy shook her head quickly, her nose wrinkled in disgust as she gulped down the whiskey. She hated the taste, someone had given it to her as a gift and she had never opened it. For some reason tonight seemed like the right opportunity, she needed something to bridge the barrier between uncomfortable pauses and penetrating stares.  
  
Finishing his glass, Spike replaced it on the coffee table, careful to avoid the open photo album. Buffy tilted back her head, draining the last swallow with a grimace. "You want another one," she asked, her hand already wrapped around the neck of the bottle. Spike just watched her for a minute before resigning himself to it, "yeah, fill 'er up." He cocked his scarred eyebrow, fixing Buffy with one of the stares she hated so much, "are you drunk?" Her forehead furrowed in confusion, "not yet," she mumbled, enunciating each word carefully. Spike nodded, "uh-huh, right then, let's have another one." At this point in his undead life, he didn't care how drunk she was; if alcohol was what it was going to take to get her to talk to him, then Spike was prepared to drain the bottle.  
  
An hour later Buffy was laying half on the couch and half on the floor, her feet propped up against the thick pillar-like legs of the coffee table. Spike was relaxing on the sofa, his back pressed firmly against the thick cushions as he savored the last bit of his drink. The bottle was almost empty and they still hadn't said anything to each other. "Spike," Buffy asked, her eyes fluttering open to study the pale vampire. Her words were slurring together, there was no doubt in Spike's mind that Buffy was completely drunk off her ass. "What the hell are you doing here," Buffy asked, her voice level but filled with anger. She had a confused frown on her face, in her drunken state Buffy was trying to figure out why her ex- boyfriend was sitting on her sofa.  
  
Spike weighed his options, he could tell her the truth or he could fall back into the familiar routine of caustic barbs and sarcastic quips. He didn't get the chance to reply because Buffy sat up, her eyes blazing with fury. "Why are you here Spike," she asked again, her voice louder this time. Spike shook his head, he had forgotten that Buffy held nothing back when she was drunk; he had a great collection of funny things she had said or done after a few glasses of wine. Alcohol channeled the petite blonde's inner Anya, throwing all her subtly and tact to the wind. Under normal circumstances Spike wouldn't have minded, but given their messy history he didn't really want to hear her unbridled opinions.  
  
Deciding that honesty would be his best defense, Spike answered, "came to see you." Her eyes narrowed, "really," she snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. He nodded, not trusting himself to keep his voice calm if Buffy kept shooting murderous glares at him. Digging her hands into the cushions, Buffy hoisted her body up, swaying for a few seconds before steadying herself. She stalked away from the sofa, walking sideways rather then forward. It was too much effort for her to stay still, her mind was drowning in alcohol-induced sensations and the entire room felt like it was spinning. Buffy didn't realize how off-balance she was, until she whirled angrily to face Spike; the smug smile on his face was too much for her to deal with, it was like he was taunting her, reminding her of how pathetic she was. Spike saw her start to fall before she actually hit the ground, in an instant he was on his feet with his arms around her waist.  
  
"Get off me, you jackass," Buffy snapped, pushing his arms away as she sank to the carpeted floor. Letting go of her, Spike lifted his arms up in a gesture of innocence, "just trying to make sure you didn't smash your head open. Forgive me for caring." In her present state, Buffy didn't notice the pain that flickered in his eyes when she shrugged off his help. "I don't get it," Buffy began, not really wanting to talk to Spike but needing to ramble endlessly. "I mean it's been what, like three years? Three fucking years without so much as a phone call and then you just show up out of the blue."  
  
She spat out the words, her face twisted in a bitter grimace. "Like nothing ever happened.like you're still a part of my life." Spike swallowed hard; he deserved that, hell he deserved every hateful word she flung at him. Somehow he never thought that she was hurting, it was always easier to think that Buffy was living a perfect life without him. She was still rambling, it was more ranting then lamenting and her voice was filled with hatred, not vulnerability. "You are the most arrogant, self-centered, egotistical, pigheaded.vampire.man.that I have ever met! Most people get the hint but not you.no, that's not your style." Leaning heavily on the sofa, she raised herself slowly from the floor, testing her balance gingerly. "Everything has to be done on your time! When you're ready!"  
  
"Dammit Spike, look at me! That's the least you can do!" Spike lifted his head slowly, a predatory yellow tint to his icy eyes. He hadn't heard her talk that way in years and it brought forth the worse parts of his temper. Buffy's voice was bitter and demanding, bringing back less then pleasant memories for Spike; he hadn't come to New York for another patented Buffy Summers verbal abuse session. Instead of letting her fall back into her bitter diatribe, Spike drew himself up to his full height. Buffy didn't even notice that he had stood up before he was in front of her, his face inches away from hers. "Now let's get something straight," Spike growled, "I am not the one who kept secrets! It wasn't my self-involved worldview that got us here! I'm not the one who moved across the bloody country!"  
  
"No, you're the one who left," she screamed. Buffy's words stunned him, they stung worse then any punch she could have aimed at his nose. "You left me," she repeated quietly, sinking onto the sofa cushions as she curled up in a tight ball, her mood no longer angry but morose. Tears gleamed in her eyes; she tucked her chin down refusing to look at Spike. "I needed you and you left. You didn't even listen to me when I tried to explain.you just left. I just wanted you to be happy for me.but you didn't even care.. you didn't let me explain." A sob broke her voice, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to control herself.  
  
Her quivering voice broke apart the last bits of Spike's anger; he sighed deeply as he sat beside her on the sofa. Hesitantly he brushed his hand over her blonde hair, his hand hovering in mid-air when her muffled voice ordered him to stop. "Don't make this any harder," she pleaded, her head still resting against her bent knees, "I can't deal with this anymore." Spike's face softened, this wasn't the time to rehash the problems of their relationship or to assign blame. Buffy wouldn't remember anything they said tonight, there was no sense in getting thrown out of her apartment over a few drunken words, no matter how much they hurt. "I'm sorry," he murmured, gently pulling her into his lap. Buffy didn't know whether she was awake or dreaming anymore, the entire world was fading to a fuzzy mess of bright colors. "I missed you," she whispered before she drifted off to sleep, completely unaware of what she had just said. Spike smoothed her hair off her forehead, "missed you too, luv. I missed you too." 


	9. What They Missed

Buffy turned away from the wall, yanking the bright comforter over her head as she prolonged the minutes before she had to leave the warmth of her bed. Her head pounded as she nestled beneath the sea of blankets, clutching the white cotton sheets tightly around her shoulders. Slowly she pried open her eyes, grimacing as her headache swelled to a crescendo. "Ugh," she groaned, sitting up groggily, uneasily pushing aside the blankets. "What the hell did I drink last night?" The last thing Buffy remembered was inviting Spike into her apartment, the rest was a blur.  
  
She bolted out of bed in a momentary panic, but nothing indicated that Spike took advantage of her drunken state; she was still in the same clothes from last night and her boots were leaning against her dresser. Buffy sat back down on the edge of her bed, her headache throbbing painfully with the sudden movement. Stretching her legs out along the cold floorboards, Buffy bent her body forward, slowly releasing the tight muscles in her back and shoulders. She stood up, extending her arms towards the ceiling as her back let out a satisfying series of pops.  
  
Dropping her clothes in a pile on the floor, Buffy pulled her violet bathrobe around her shoulders. She didn't want to go into the living room and see if Spike was still in her apartment. Her entire body throbbed with tension and stiffness; she needed a long shower before she could even think about dealing with her platinum blonde vampire. Buffy didn't even bother to turn on the lights, through her half-closed eyes she could see well enough to maneuver through the hallway. She stumbled into the bathroom, turning the hot water up as high as it could go. Leaving her bathrobe in a heap, Buffy stepped under the steaming cascade of water, hoping that everything in her tangled life would seem clearer once she got out.  
  
It felt like she had been under the spray for hours when Buffy finally turned off the water. She took a deep breath of warm air; the shower had cleared some of the fuzz surrounding her brain, leaving her feeling refreshed. Buffy pulled her bathrobe over her wet form, not bothering to dry her hair as she walked back into her bedroom. Standing inside her closet, Buffy resisted the childish urge to stamp her foot in frustration. "I have no clue what to wear," she said, her voice whiny, "I mean I need something that says 'I'm over you', without saying 'I'm over you'!" In the end, she pulled on a pair of black cotton pants and a teal long-sleeved shirt. Brushing her hair into a loose topknot, Buffy put on some moisturizer and a light coat of lip gloss. "Casual," she kept repeating to herself, "just casual." Sliding her feet into a worn pair of black sandals, Buffy took a deep breath. She wandered into the living room, her heartbeat echoing the words, "don't screw this up, don't screw this up."  
  
The blinds were closed when she entered the room, long shadows dancing eerily over the walls. Spike's low voice cut through the quiet room, "morning," he murmured, not caring that it was three in the afternoon. Outside, rain still poured down in a relentless torrent, making the apartment seem gloomy. Tension filled the room, thick ropes of uncertainty hung in every corner, constant reminders of how bizarre this situation was. This is awkward, Buffy thought, and for a moment it was like she was watching herself through someone else's eyes. Someone else, another woman with blonde curls and emerald eyes was standing in the entrance way of the room, her hands twisting slowly behind her back. She was looking anywhere but at Spike, focusing mostly on the chipped red polish on her big toe, digging the edge of her sandal into the carpet. Her mouth was opening and closing, like a fish trying to breathe out of the familiar ocean water. She looked so small, so lost; gone was her Slayer bravado or her hard-as-nails business face, her heart was naked before his penetrating glance, she could never pretend with Spike, never try to be someone she wasn't.  
  
Shaking her head to silence the seemingly endless monologue inside her mind, Buffy looked back at Spike. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time, trying to memorize every contour of his face with a single glance, but knowing that she would never be able to truly capture every detail. She wasn't ready to deal with Spike but at the same time she was glad that he hadn't just left without any explanation. There were a dozen things she should be doing, work-related things, questions she needed to ask, explanations she needed to give, apologies she should make; instead all she could do was focus on was the bleached blonde vampire sitting on her sofa. She lifted her head, staring at him for a long minute, trying to remember why she had ever thought she could live without him.  
  
Gnawing on her lower lip, Buffy attempted to break the tension, "do you want a cup of coffee," she asked. Without waiting for an answer she walked into the kitchen, leaving Spike staring at her retreating back in confusion. He had slept on Buffy's couch, not really sure where he fit into her life but not ready to disappoint her by leaving; he had done enough running to last a lifetime in the last three years, this time he was staying until she threw him out. He had put her to bed last night after she had passed out in his arms on the sofa. He didn't know how much of their conversation she would remember in the morning; she had to be pretty far gone in order to tell Spike that she missed him. There was something different about her, the fire in her eyes wasn't as bright as he had remembered, her smile didn't extend as far as he had pictured, something was missing from his golden goddess. He had stared at the ceiling for hours, trying to get comfortable on Buffy's couch as he pondered the differences in her. After a few hours he had succumbed to exhaustion, still not knowing what was bothering him about Buffy.  
  
Buffy emerged from the kitchen, interrupting his musings, she was balancing a tray of coffee and some cinnamon rolls she had found in the back cabinet. The pitcher of cream tipped precariously and Spike grabbed the tray before Buffy's inherent clumsiness wrecked havoc on her tan carpet. Setting the tray on the edge of the coffee table, he watched Buffy as she paused before him, unsure where she should sit. She weighed her choices, wanting to keep as much distance between them as possible, but also craving physical contact. In a move of desperation, Buffy plopped down on the other end of the sofa, her knees turned towards Spike, hands clasped tightly in her lap.  
  
Simultaneously they reached towards the tray, both withdrawing slightly when they saw the other's hand. Spike chuckled nervously, breaking the silence that had once again threatened to overwhelm the penthouse. He gestured for Buffy to pour the coffee, allowing her the first bit of control, the opportunity to start the conversation on her terms. Handing Spike his mug, she cursed her hands for trembling so much. If Spike noticed, he didn't say anything, instead concentrating on the steaming coffee. She silently stirred sugar into her mug, watching as the cream turned the liquid a muddy brown. Absently, Spike munched on a roll, ignoring the stale taste and brittle texture. "Sorry I don't have anything else," Buffy murmured, she knew Spike's body was probably craving blood. He shrugged, not really caring about food, just wanting to prolong the inevitable arguing as long as possible.  
  
This shouldn't be that hard, Buffy chided herself mentally. After everything that had passed between her and Spike, it was absurd that they could not find anything to talk about. "So how's Nibblet enjoying Colorado," Spike asked, anxious to steer the conversation onto neutral territory. Buffy visibly relaxed at the mention of her sister, "she loves it. I was talking to her a coupla days ago and she just kept going on and on about her classes and her professors. She has this one class in ancient philosophy and I swear she went on about it for twenty minutes before she realized that I had no clue what she was saying." Spike chuckled, still not believing that his Nibblet was getting a master's degree in ancient civilizations; she had certainly grown up from the little girl he had met the first time he came to Sunnydale. He swelled with brotherly pride at the thought of Dawn becoming an accomplished academic.  
  
Buffy kept talking about her sister, "she just moved into a little apartment off-campus and she keeps bugging me to redecorate it free of charge. Only problem is that she wants everything modern and I am so over the black and white geometric squares look." Licking her lips, she snuck a glance at Spike before continuing, "Dawn wants everything done her way but she doesn't want to do the work. If someone else does it, then she can whine about who it's not exactly the way she wanted." Spike chuckled; he knew better then to get involved in that battle of wills. Taking a sip of her coffee, Buffy laced her fingers around the warm mug. "sometimes I can't believe that Dawn isn't a little girl anymore. I just can't see her as an adult-I understand how my Mom felt when she had to watch us go off on our own." Sadness darkened Buffy's delicate features, "I wish she could be here to see us. She would be so proud of Dawnie." Spike reached over and patted Buffy's shoulder gently, "she'd be proud of you too."  
  
At Spike's feather-light touch, Buffy's body surged with a familiar warmth. Her cheeks flushed and she reached for her coffee, breaking the contact between them. Trembling hands gripped the ceramic mug and she attempted to slow her breathing, knowing that Spike could sense the slightest change in her. Spike bit down hard on his lower lip, hoping that he hadn't ruined his chances with Buffy by overstepping their tentative boundaries. His fear dissipated quickly when she continued the conversation, never skipping a beat in an effort to appear composed. "Giles got married last year and he's still living in England. His wife, Katherine, she's a professor of religion at Oxford. The first time I went out to meet her, I almost fell asleep because the conversation is all intellectual." She giggled, "it was so boring! She's really sweet though, and it's nice to see Giles happy. He owns a bookshop in the middle of nowhere, this corner shop that's nothing like the Magic Box. But hey, it keeps him happy and he has the perfect cover to do wacky Council-related research. They keep him on retainer but basically he just putters around, selling boring books to stuffy British people."  
  
She snuck another quick glance at Spike, not wanting to lose herself in the cerulean depths of his eyes. He smiled reassuringly, sinking back into the comfortable sofa, his arms draped loosely over the back of the cushions. Buffy continued to talk about the rest of the Scoobies, anxious to keep the silence at bay. "Xander and Anya just had another son last October. Poor Anya's outnumbered four to one; she keeps telling Xander that she wants a girl. The twins are turning five in a couple of weeks.it's insane, I mean it seems like they just got married last month." Spike nodded, remembering how terrified the poor Whelp had been at the wedding, it was hard to believe that the wedding was six years ago.  
  
"Last time I talked to him, Xander was starting work on a new mall. His construction company is really taking off and now that Sunnydale's no longer an active Hellmouth, there's a ton of people moving in." Buffy nibbled nervously on the edge of a cinnamon roll, not tasting how dry it was. Staring down at her half-filled coffee cup, she tried to prolong the catch-up stories. She wasn't ready to talk about why Spike was in New York, nor was she ready for him to piece together all the embarrassing things she'd said in her drunken haze. Stretching his long legs, Spike's lean frame sunk further into the plush fabric of the sofa. "Tara went back to work last fall, Michaela started daycare and she couldn't deal with being home alone for so long. She really missed the kids.who knew Tara would end up a special ed teacher?" Spike shrugged his shoulders casually, he had heard most of the Scoobie news but it was always interesting to hear about the Wiccans. They had always been nice to him, even back in the days before he was a neutered domesticated vamp.  
  
Spike looked over the lip of the coffee cup and steered the conversation back to Buffy. "I've read a lot about you," he said, "your designs are amazing." She blushed under his praise, remembering when they would sit on the porch of the house on Revello Drive, talking about the future. "Thanks," she said, pleased that he still followed her work. "But what about you? How've you been," Buffy asked, not ready to talk about her own life. For a moment the conversation resembled something normal; two friends meeting in the supermarket and catching up on old times. However, this exchange was wrought with tension, each word and gesture carefully weighed before delivery. Spike nodded offhandedly, draining his cup before answering. "I've been good. Done a bit of traveling, I actually stopped in LA for a spell before coming out here." Buffy smiled and gestured for him to continue, she didn't really care about Angel, but if that's where Spike wanted to start the conversation then she wasn't going to argue.  
  
The vampire took a long swallow of coffee before filling in the gaps created by time and absence. "Peaches is doing alright, he still has the hotel and is doing that blasted hero bit. I was there for three days and I thought I was going to go crazy. It's like staying in a bloody tomb, after two hundred years you'd think he'd develop a personality or something remotely similar." Buffy giggled at the sarcasm in Spike's voice. At least some things never change, she thought, the day Spike and Angel bury the hatchet is the day Hell freezes over.  
  
Spike snatched another cinnamon roll off the table, his crunching the only sound in the room. He swallowed, seamlessly continuing his narrative, "I told the Poof that he needs to hire more people, something to liven up that hotel. He just gives me that 'Stop talking now because I'm your grand-Sire and I'm not going to listen to your ideas no matter how good they are' look." Buffy smiled, pouring herself another cup of coffee as Spike continued bashing the elder vampire. "What can I say? He always was a stupid dolt. If you want my opinion, he's frustrated. Too many pent-up feelings." Buffy raised an eyebrow, "frustrated?" Spike grinned wickedly, his icy blue eyes dancing mirthlessly. "Yeah, seems to me that happiness clause has to get to you after a while." Buffy's shoulders shook with laughter as her confusion melted into a fit of giggles. "Spike, that's terrible!" He shrugged his shoulder before turning back to his coffee, "just a theory I had. Didn't say it was the truth."  
  
As her giggles faded away, Buffy became acutely aware of her nearness to Spike. Sometime during their storytelling she had moved closer to him, their knees touching, hands a hairbreadth apart. She took a deep breath, squeezing her hands tightly together as the knuckles turned white. A chill had invaded Buffy's body and she trembled slightly, thinking that she should turn up the heat. Sensing her discomfort, Spike reached over and gently massaged her numb fingers, his tapered hands providing enough friction to return circulation. Involuntarily Buffy sighed, relaxing instantly at his touch.  
  
She pulled away suddenly, remembering where she was and who she was with. Shaking her head slightly, Buffy mentally cursed herself for being so weak when it came to Spike. He closed his eyes, kicking himself for overstepping the tentative boundaries between them for the second time that afternoon. "So what about you," she asked, interested to know how Spike had spent the last three years. Spike looked at her in disbelief, not sure if she was truly curious or just trying to fill the awkward silence. She stared expectantly at him, her eyebrows raised as she waited for him to begin.  
  
"Well, I've been living in Australia," Spike began. "Finally made use of all the fake documents that Giles gave me. I've been teaching at a university in Sydney, visiting professor of British lit and all that rot." Buffy raised her eyebrows in disbelief, so that was why she hadn't heard a single thing about him from anyone in Sunnydale. "It's not a bad job, gives me something to do," he said, sure that he was boring Buffy to tears by blabbering on about teaching. As if she read his mind, Buffy sat up on the couch, tucking her feet under her body. "It sounds so neat," she exclaimed, her voice filled with envy and intrigue. For the next forty minutes Spike told her stories about Australia, his rich voice sending shivers down Buffy's spine as she listened.  
  
Night had fallen over the city when they finally stopped exchanging stories from the past three years. Spike stood up, stretching his arms over his head, "I better get back to my hotel," he said, "get out of these clothes and get something to eat." Buffy nodded, her face falling in disappointment that Spike was leaving. Even though they had talked all afternoon, there was still so much she wanted to say to him. She gnawed nervously on her lower lip, wanting to ask if he would be coming back but too scared to push him away again. The rain tapping against her window gave Buffy a perfect opening, "why don't you let me drive you, it's pouring buckets out there and it'll be hell trying to find a cab. My car's right down in the garage and I wouldn't mind giving you a lift there." Spike raised his scarred eyebrow, a familiar suggestive gleam in his eyes. "I've got a better idea. You give me your car keys and I'll go run to my hotel."  
  
"Okay, but how am I going to get my car back," Buffy answered, hoping she knew what his answer would be. Spike didn't disappoint her, "I'll bring it back. And maybe I'll bring dinner. Chinese sound alright?" She nodded, amazed that he had remembered what she liked and even more amazed that he had offered. "Alright then, just give me the keys and I'll be back in a bit," Spike said. Tossing him the keys, Buffy said, "the garage is on the bottom level, just take the elevator down. It's parked right by the entrance." Spike tilted his head questioningly, "which car is it?" Laughing quietly, Buffy replied, "it's the blue Jeep. Same one as before." Pulling on his duster, Spike pocketed the keys, "alright luv, see you in a bit."  
  
Buffy watched the door close behind Spike, shaking her head at the familiarity of the whole situation. It was like nothing had changed between them, like they were still together. "Shit, I better get changed," Buffy said, leaping off the couch. "Just because he's my ex doesn't mean I should look all icky," she justified to the empty living room, carrying the tray of empty coffee cups into the kitchen. Snatching her phone out of the cradle, Buffy dialed her office. "Yeah, Liza, it's Buffy. Listen, tell David that I'm taking the rest of the week off.yeah, finally using some of those vacation days.no, nothing's wrong.I'm sure..an old friend came to town..wanted to spend some time catching up.thanks Liza.I'll see you on Monday." Hanging up the phone, Buffy hummed idly to herself as she poured out the cold coffee and threw away the rolls.  
  
Her thoughts drifted back to Spike, it was so easy to forget that they hadn't been together in years. Even though she wanted to talk to Spike about what had happened back in Sunnydale, it was easier to just live in the present moment. When the time was right, then they would talk about it. "Right now though, I have to get dressed," Buffy said as she opened her closet doors. She hadn't even noticed that she felt lighter, more relaxed, then she had felt in weeks; in the last few hours, her carefully sculptured façade had been slowly chipped away. Buffy was blissfully oblivious though, as she pulled on a fresh pair of jeans. 


	10. All Better?

The wipers swished back and forth, bright streetlights gleaming against the wet windshield as Spike made his way down the avenue. "Fuck!" The expletive cut through the air and Spike let out a frustrated growl, clutching the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands. He sighed deeply, half-tempted to just drive out of the city and never look back. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Buffy's green eyes staring back at him, a radiant smile on her face as she listened to his stories. Spike shook his head, he was so confused, his emotions were pulling him in a thousand directions and his head felt like it was going to explode. It was so easy to pretend that nothing had changed between them, but Spike knew that ignoring the past didn't make it go away.  
  
Pulling into the parking garage of the hotel, Spike turned off the ignition. He stayed in the Jeep, clutching his head between his hands, "this is bloody brilliant. All the planning shot to shit in less then twenty-four hours." Slamming the door viciously, Spike stalked up the stairs to the lobby. He was furious with himself; somehow between the restaurant and Buffy's apartment he had lost his nerve. "And where did that get me," Spike growled to himself as he waited for the elevator to stop at his floor. "Nowhere! Instead of leaving this bloody City tonight, I've got to go pick up dinner..and not for me, but for her! Three years! I've had three years to get over her..but here I am, a glorified lap dog. All because she gave me that look..reduced to an idiot just because she smiled."  
  
Spike threw his shoes across the room, ripping into a packet of blood with his fangs. "Some things never change," he snarled, not bothering to shake off his game face. He was too angry with himself to even care. Draining the plastic bag, Spike grabbed another from the fridge. Without even heating it up, he bit into the plastic, drawing out the crimson liquid. "I used to be the Scourge of Europe," he lamented to the empty room, "now look at me. I'm right pathetic, chasing after a woman who'll never love me." He collapsed on the bed, still talking to himself, finding a bitter humor in the entire situation. "Sad thing is, I'd go to the ends of the bloody Earth for her. I'd do anything to get her back. Nothing to live for without her."  
  
Shaking his head, Spike pulled a clean shirt out of his suitcase. "Bloody poetic shit," he muttered, dropping his sweater onto the bed. Ten minutes later, he was in the hallway, preparing to lock the door when Spike realized he had left his shoes in the room. "This woman is going to be the death of me," he growled, snatching his shoes from the carpeted floor before slamming the door shut.  
  
Back in her apartment, Buffy dropped another shirt to the growing pile on her floor. "Too dressy, too old, no, definitely no, ick, no, is this even mine, oh God no, maybe in ten years, no, no." She kept up the running commentary, flipping through her shirts quickly. "How hard is it to find something to wear," she complained, sticking her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. Pulling out a violet long-sleeved shirt, Buffy tilted her head critically, "this might work." She yanked it over her head, spinning slowly in the mirror, trying to see what was wrong with her reflection. The stretchy fabric clung to her thin frame, showing off her figure without being too sexy. Both the front and the back had a deep v-neckline, and the bell sleeves covered her wrists, leaving her tiny hands peeking out from beneath the light-colored material. "Yeah, this'll work," she said, brushing out her long blonde hair before twisting it back into a loose bun. Buffy slid her feet into sandals, her boots looked too dressy and slippers looked too casual, she justified to herself.  
  
The den seemed too quiet and Buffy sank into her favorite armchair with a sigh. No matter how awkward the last few hours had been, she was glad to see Spike. There was something about the blonde vampire that made her feel like she was floating and drowning, all at the same time. "Now if only I can tell him how sorry I am," Buffy mused. She sat back in the chair, waiting for Spike to come back with dinner as the rain continued to pour down outside.  
  
"Bloody hell," Spike cursed as he left the restaurant, a large brown bag of food in his arms. By the time he got to the car the paper bag was completely soaked through and the water was dripping off his duster. He put the bag on top of the Jeep's roof, reaching into the pocket of his duster for the car keys. "All this for her dinner," he muttered, steering the car back towards Buffy's apartment, "hope she appreciates it." He had gotten a wide array of food from the small take-out restaurant, not sure what was going to taste good and what wasn't. "Does the rain never stop in this damn city," Spike complained as he pulled out into the street, making sure that the soggy bag was beside him. The drive back was shorter then he thought it would be, there was less traffic and fewer pedestrians to dodge.  
  
Twenty minutes later Spike was standing in front of her apartment door, shifting the damp bag in his hands. He raised his hand to knock but Buffy opened the door before his knuckles could make contact. "Thought I heard you," she said, stepping aside to let him in. Spike chuckled, "I come bearing dinner," he said with an exaggerated bow, setting the bag down on the coffee table. "And my car keys," Buffy asked, her sculptured eyebrows rising expectantly. Tossing the keys towards her, Spike knelt down to unpack the containers, "Jeep's back in one piece." Buffy put the keys on their hook before walking into the kitchen to get napkins. "That's good to know," she muttered softly, glad that Spike hadn't changed his mind.  
  
She had been pacing the apartment, not sure that he was really going to come back. Her insecurities were running in high gear and Buffy was struggling to keep calm. She reached into the cabinets, grabbing two glasses. "Do you want something to drink," she called into the living room, "I have water, iced tea and more water." Spike chuckled, "water's fine." Buffy nodded, filling both glasses with ice before topping them off with water. "Napkins," she murmured absently before picking up the two glasses. Walking back into the living room, Buffy took a deep breath. This shouldn't be that bad, she thought, it's just dinner.  
  
Her coffee table was covered with small white containers, wisps of steam releasing spicy aromas into the air. "This smells great," Buffy exclaimed, sitting opposite Spike who was lounging comfortably on her floor. "Wasn't sure what to get," he said sheepishly, gesturing to all the containers that covered the table. Now that it was all out of the soggy bag, he was starting to wonder if he'd gotten too much food. Buffy smiled, "it's alright. Besides, I'm hungry." Spike bit back a comment about her needing to eat more, she was skinnier then he had remembered.  
  
He passed Buffy a wrapped package of chopsticks, "dig in." Buffy smiled, her voice teasing, "so you want me to take the first taste?" Spike sighed, muttering something about women, his chopsticks dipping into the container of beef and broccoli. "Happy now," he mumbled, popping the green vegetable into his mouth. She nodded, unwrapping her own chopsticks, wondering if she should go get plates. As if he read her mind, Spike said, "if you don't mind sharing the cartons, we can just pick out of these. Instead of dirtying plates." She nodded, "that works." Picking up a container of rice, Buffy picked at a few grains, trying to remember how to use chopsticks. Spike pushed a container of chicken into her hands, "try that. Bigger pieces are easier to start with."  
  
She glanced up, looking for the sweet and sour sauce, but he had already put it in front of her. "Thanks," she mumbled around a mouthful of food. Spike nodded, watching Buffy intently. "This is good," Buffy murmured, reaching for another container, this one filled with dumplings. From underneath her eyelashes, Buffy studied Spike; his pale lips were curled around the chopsticks, his blunt teeth piercing a piece of shrimp. Buffy dropped her gaze, hoping that he did not notice the flush of her cheeks or sense the rapid beating of her heart. After so many years apart she could still think Spike was sexy, it was just too much to watch his lips encircling the piece of shrimp. Her palms trembled and she took several deep breaths, trying to quell the urge to lean across the table and kiss Spike senseless.  
  
The chopsticks trembled violently in her hand as Buffy struggled to avoid looking at Spike. Her throat closed when she looked down at the food and she tried to ignore the pressure in her chest as a slow heat invaded her body. I can't do this, she thought anxiously, pushing herself up from the coffee table. Spike cocked an eyebrow in her direction as Buffy scurried past him, mumbling something about getting more water. Clenching his hands in tight fists, Spike struggled to regain control of himself; the Slayer could still render him defenseless with a single wide-eyed glance.  
  
In the safety of the kitchen, Buffy ran tap water into a clean glass and pressed the cool liquid against her forehead. Bracing herself against the counter, she allowed her head to drop, attempting to regain control of herself. Her stomach was fluttering and she knew that it was too dangerous to be in the same room as Spike. The conflicting emotions she was feeling were torture; one part of her yearned to kiss Spike and forget the last few years, yet her more rational side needed to move on and avoid reopening old wounds. A cold hand between her shoulder blades shattered her thoughts, the fingertips icy against her exposed skin.  
  
"Buffy, are you alright," Spike asked, his voice thick with concern. She shook her head, blonde hair swishing across her face with the force. "What's wrong," he pressed. Buffy turned around to face Spike and the tears glistening in her eyes shocked him. "I'm so sorry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm so sorry." Spike's forehead furrowed in confusion, "sorry for what? What're you talking about?" She shook her head, refusing to look at him. "Buffy, look at me," he ordered gently, his throat closing at the sight of her tear-stained face. Her dull green eyes looked back at him, her chin quivering uncontrollably. "I'm sorry," she whimpered, "I'm sorry I did this to you." Spike sighed deeply, his thumbs gently caressing the rivers of tears that cascaded over her cheeks. "You don't have anything to be sorry for," he said, his hands falling back to his sides in defeat.  
  
She opened her mouth to protest but his upraised hand stopped her. "Listen to me," he said, his voice tired, "this wasn't your fault." Buffy shook her head, "yes it is, I lied to you. I didn't tell you right away about my job offer and I let you find out in the most terrible way possible. You were right Spike, I jumped into this headfirst and didn't even think about you." She swallowed hard, trying to get all the words out before dissolving into a sobbing mess. "And I'm so sorry. Not just because I took this job without telling you. I'm sorry because I hurt you.and that's the last thing I wanted to do. I love you so much... and I wanted to tell you how sorry I was.but I couldn't because I was too proud and too scared...and now I'm just scared.but it's too late."  
  
Spike hooked his fingers under Buffy's chin, his blue eyes piercing through hers. "Why is it too late," he asked, confusion reflected in his azure depths. Buffy sniffed, "because you don't love me anymore." If possible, Spike's face paled even more then its normal alabaster shade. "Where did you get that from," he growled softly, yellow flecks glittering in his suddenly stormy eyes. The emotions coursed through him like wildfire as he waited for her answer, in those few seconds he felt everything that stretched between anger and remorse. She looked down again, studying the tile pattern on her kitchen floor. Buffy didn't have an answer for him, she just couldn't fathom Spike still caring about her; she had been so terrible to him, she didn't deserve his love. "Look at me," Spike ordered, tired of waiting for her to find the right words. She complied, her eyes lifeless. "I never stopped loving you," Spike said, his voice no louder then a whisper. "How could I?" Buffy stared at him in disbelief, trying to understand what he was saying to her, not ready to believe him.  
  
"I wanted you to be happy," Spike said, "and I thought that this would make you happy." He gestured around the kitchen, "I though this was what you wanted, what you needed. A normal life." Buffy's eyes blazed, she hated that 'normal life' speech. Before Spike could continue, she grabbed his hands, crushing them between hers as she tried to get his attention. "What I needed was you," she said, her voice rising in desperation. She let go of his hands, turning back towards the sink, clutching the countertop tightly. "I don't care about normal.don't you get that by now?" Spike shook his head, not knowing what to say.  
  
Buffy's face brightened, her green eyes more alive then before; she finally knew how to explain it to Spike. Turning around, Buffy faced him, wiping the tears away from her face. "You told me once, that the day I sussed out what I wanted that there would be a parade. Remember?" Spike nodded, he wasn't sure where she was going with this trip through their past. "With seventy-six bloody trombones," he added softly. "Right. Well I figured it out. I know what I want." Buffy paused, once she said the words there was no turning back. Taking a deep breath, she ignored the voice of insecurity that was telling her to stop talking. "What do you want," Spike asked, his face a casual mask of indifference. "I want you," Buffy said, "if you can forgive me.. but if you can't.."  
  
Spike's hand covered her mouth; "if you forgive me for being such an ass." Buffy stopped fighting back the tears that were stinging her eyes; she nodded emphatically, not trusting her voice. He smiled, "so can I." Taking a hesitant step closer, he held out his arms to Buffy who flung herself into the familiar embrace. Wrapping his arms around her, Spike kissed the top of her head, pulling her body against his. "I'm so sorry," he whispered into her hair. She lifted her head, her fingers grazing his lower lip, "no more talking," she murmured, "just kiss me."  
  
Buffy wrapped her arms around his shoulders as Spike pulled her close to his body, crushing his lips to hers. They kissed hungrily for several minutes, long kisses filled with desire that left them both breathless. Breaking the connection, Spike pulled away from Buffy to study her face, "is this what you want, pet," he asked. Time seemed to slow as he waited for an answer; the agonizing seconds settling heavily around his heart as he prepared himself for rejection. Breathlessly, the petite blonde answered, "yes." The rest of her words were forgotten as Spike pulled her to him, too many moments having passed since their last kiss.  
  
Soon, Buffy could not control her longing anymore and she tugged at the buttons of Spike's shirt, needing more contact. Without ever breaking the embrace, she yanked his shirt off as her violet colored top fell to the floor in two ripped pieces. Spike alternating bruising kisses with gentle nips as he caressed her face and neck with his mouth. When his lips brushed to a tender spot on her collarbone, Buffy arched against him before whispering, "bedroom, now." Spike swung her into his arms. "Aren't you demanding," he gently teased, swiftly moving into her room. "You. Know. You. Love. It," Buffy replied, punctuating each word with a kiss.  
  
Depositing Buffy on the bed, Spike kicked off his shoes and crawled up towards her. She was propped against the padded headboard, her blonde hair spayed around her face like a fairytale princess. Spike held himself over her body, leaning down to plunder her lips with his. She smiled, purring softly in contentment; tangling her hands in his unruly platinum curls, she guided his face down to hers. "Too many clothes," she breathed, her hands drifting towards his belt. Spike knelt before Buffy on the bed, pushing aside her trembling fingers. "Patience sweetheart," he murmured softly. Buffy rebelled beneath him, "patience later," she demanded. "Want you now. Missed you too much to wait.Need you now." Her words stunned Spike and Buffy took advantage of his momentary pause, reaching up to pull his face down to hers.  
  
Hours later Buffy shifted in Spike's embrace, their bodies tangled beneath the rumpled sheets. His arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, pressing Buffy against his muscled chest, his free hand resting on her lower back. She let out a contented sigh, nuzzling his shoulder with the top of her head. Spike purred deep in his throat, the arm gripping Buffy tightened, pulling her even closer. For the first time in three years, they both slept peacefully, no longer plagued by dreams of what had been lost. 


	11. Do You Remember

Spike stood in the hallway, resting the soaked paper bag against the doorframe as he dug in his pocket for Buffy's keys. "Bloody hell," he swore, sticking the tarnished gold key in the lock. Pushing open the door, Spike called into the quiet apartment, not wanting to startle Buffy with his unannounced entry. "Buffy? You in here?" He had to bit his tongue, it was so tempting to drop a familiar pet name into the conversation. Shaking his head, Spike walked into the living room, that was all in the past. He stopped in front of the couch, a smirk tugging the corners of his mouth. Buffy was curled up in the corner of the sofa, her denim clad legs tucked beneath her body, a contented smile on her face. "Typical," he grumbled, his good mood having vanished somewhere between the parking garage and the elevator. Spike shook his head, moving into the kitchen to drop the bag of food and drape his dripping wet duster over a chair.  
  
Balling his hands into tight fists, Spike stood over Buffy's sleeping form, not sure whether it would be better to wake her up or if he should just let her sleep. His left hand gripped her shoulder, abruptly jolting Buffy from her comfortable dream realm of complacency and back to the bitter tension of real life. Sleepy green eyes stared up at Spike in confusion, "what's wrong," she murmured. The last thing Buffy remembered was falling asleep in Spike's arms, now he was standing in front of her and she was sleeping on the sofa. "Nothing," was his curt reply. Spike turned back towards the kitchen, "brought some food," he practically growled. All of the turbulent emotions had hidden themselves beneath his familiar mask of indifference and sarcasm, he didn't know any other way to deal with Buffy and her wide emerald eyes weren't helping his already over-wrought nerves.  
  
Buffy shook her head, her mouth opening and closing quickly. "Food," she murmured, trying to make sense of everything. Then it hit her, an overwhelming realization that squeezed her heart in a painful vice. "It was all a dream," she whispered, tears burning the back of her eyes. Wiping the moisture away carelessly with the back of her hand, Buffy walked into the kitchen. Her circular table was covered with half a dozen containers and Buffy's stomach growled with anticipation. "This looks great," she chirped, sliding into a chair beside Spike. The blonde vampire didn't answer, he just pushed a few white cartons in her general direction and continued to pick halfheartedly at the fried rice.  
  
They ate in silence for what felt like an eternity; the tension was so thick that Buffy could scarcely breathe, her dream weighed heavily on her mind and she wished that life could be that easy. There was nothing left to say, no more stories to hide behind, she had to face the truth. Buffy had tortured herself with questions and doubts for months, this was her opportunity to silence her demons and get some answers. "Why did you come to New York?" The question seemed so banal in her head, simple, with no implications or accusations attached. Rolling off her tongue however, the words stung with a bitter venom, they hissed with anger and pain. Her voice wasn't high-pitched and whiny, it wasn't pleading or needing, it was fierce, filled with rage and hatred, betrayal. There was nothing simple about what she was asking Spike, she was demanding an explanation.  
  
Spike sighed deeply, pushing away his half-eaten container of food. The tentative truce between them had been shattered in one single moment, Buffy's words were flames that threatened to envelop his entire being. She hadn't even bothered to conceal the bitterness in her voice, hadn't tried to pretend that Spike's presence wasn't tearing her apart. He looked up at her, his eyes dark, tired of running and of lying. "For peace," he said and his voice wasn't rough, it was confessional, barely above a whisper. "I needed peace," he repeated, louder this time, trying to get out the right words before she cut him off.  
  
Instead of the fierce verbal assault Spike had been bracing himself for, Buffy just nodded. She waited for him to continue, she needed to hear his words, to understand why he was suddenly back in her life. "I tried to move on," he said, not really talking to her anymore, just voicing his thoughts out loud. "For three years I did everything I could to make a fresh start. But it wasn't enough." He looked at Buffy, his blue eyes piercing through her in a way that left her feeling vulnerable and completely exposed. "Never was enough. Kept thinking about you.about everything.bloody internal demons. I knew it wasn't right, the way we.ended.but I didn't know.I couldn't.there was just never enough time.it was never the right time." Spike paused, looking off into the distance, not seeing Buffy's refrigerator, lost in his own memories. "Does that make any sense," he asked, his voice defeated as if he truly didn't care about whether it made sense or not.  
  
Buffy nodded her head vigorously, her head felt like it was spinning and the tightness in her chest was spreading throughout her body. She knew what was coming but she kept wishing that she wasn't really understanding Spike, that she was reading into his words. "I need peace," Spike said, reaffirming the mantra that had carried him half-way around the world. He looked back at Buffy, wondering if she knew the hold she had on his heart. Spike's mouth twisted in self-loathing, she would never know, he would never tell her; she had a good life without him, the last thing she needed was an overly emotional confession of love.  
  
"And you think I can give you that," Buffy asked, her mouth curling sardonically. She had been a fool to think that Spike had come back for her, that he still loved her. It was all dreams, illusions. There was no happy ending, no prince charming, no fairy-tale future, there were just broken hearts and tattered promises. "Yeah," Spike replied, breaking through her musings. Buffy took a deep breath, painting on the eerily calm mask of indifference that had carried her through the last few years, the emotionally stoic face she had hidden behind for months. Raising her eyebrows expectantly, she stared at Spike, "what do you want from me?"  
  
Spike gritted his teeth angrily, willing himself not to lose his nerve. "I want to make things right between us," he began, "end things properly.a real goodbye." The whispered words hit Buffy hard, knocking the breath out of her lungs. But she couldn't let him get the best of her, she had come too far for that to happen. "A real goodbye, huh?" She shuddered, her voice sounded forced, too high-pitched to be realistic. Changing her approach, she let some of the rage coursing through her veins to infuse her voice. "And this is what you waited three years for, you arrogant shit?"  
  
She pushed her chair away from the table, almost upsetting the chair in her anger. Her eyes glittered with rage, "I don't need this shit Spike! I don't need you here and I sure as hell don't need a long, drawn out goodbye..as far as I'm concerned we said our goodbyes a long time ago." Drawing in a deep breath, Buffy plunged along recklessly, her calloused words falling unbidden from her lips, "it's over Spike..it's been over for a long time." She turned away from him, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared blankly at the wall. There was nothing she wanted more then to walk over and bury her head against his chest, to feel his soft kisses on her face. But the hurt was too strong; the pain was too acute for Buffy to give in to Spike.  
  
When she turned around, Spike's body was inches from hers, the fury and passion crackling through the air between them. He lowered his face until his mouth was poised above hers, his yellow eyes furious. "I know it's over," he said, his voice a low predatory growl, "I'm not some bloody lap dog anymore..so your little game of kick-the-Spike won't work." Buffy paled at his words but she couldn't bring herself to argue with him. "I need closure," Spike hissed, "so I can move on."  
  
Buffy's head snapped up, she pushed past Spike so they were standing a few feet apart. "So you can move on to someone else? Is that it," she spat. Tired blue eyes looked up at her, Spike looked defeated, all his anger gone. "Don't do this. Please Buffy, I didn't come here to fight with you." She pursed her lips angrily, "fine. Then tell me what you wanted and then get the hell out of my apartment." Shaking his head, Spike looked at her, genuine sadness in his eyes. The past few hours had been a complete waste of time, they were no closer to making amends then they had been three years ago. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry," Spike said, willing his voice not to catch in his throat, "and I wanted to say goodbye."  
  
Tears sparkled in Buffy's emerald eyes, "it's a little late for that, isn't it?" She swallowed hard, trying to maintain some measure of self-control. "Where'll you go," she asked. Spike took a deep breath, raking his hand through his hair, "back to Australia. My flight's leaving tomorrow morning." She nodded, trying to sound more confident then she felt, not ready to show Spike how deep her emotional scars ran. "Got it." Licking her suddenly dry lips, Buffy crossed the room, leaning in to graze Spike's cheek with her lips, "goodbye Spike." She scurried out of the room, feeling like she had just lost everything as the tears spilled over her cheeks.  
  
Spike swore quietly to himself, this was not how he envisioned their reunion. While he wasn't holding out for the romantic-comedy movie ending, he didn't think it would hurt this much. Grabbing his duster, he swung the buttery soft leather over his shoulders. He pulled a faded cream envelope out of his pocket, tracing his index finger over the name written in sloping cursive. "Might as well leave it here," he murmured, placing the envelope on the coffee table before letting himself out of the apartment. "Sorry about everything luv," he said to the closed door, hating himself for walking away but not knowing what else to do.  
  
Splashing cold water on her face, Buffy buried her face in a plush towel, trying to dry away the tears that kept spilling over her cheeks. She grimaced at the splotchy, tear-stained mess reflected in the mirror, turning out the bathroom light before walking back into the living room. For the first time in years, she didn't feel abandoned; she hadn't given Spike the chance to break her heart again. She was so tired though, her body ached with exhaustion. Sinking onto the couch, Buffy stared blankly at the empty living room.  
  
Her gaze fell on a water-stained envelope that at one time was probably cream but had faded to a dingy white. She picked it up, her trembling hands grazing over her name, written in Spike's distinctive Victorian scrawl. Ripping open the envelope, she pulled out two thin sheets of paper. "Buffy," the first page began, "if you're reading this, then I'm a cowardly bastard. But I suppose you already knew that. Why else would I just leave? Anyway, I know you're probably ready to burn this letter, but please just read the whole thing first. I always was a God awful poet, but I didn't know any other way to explain this to you." There was space, a few blank lines that followed his grim words, room for something else to say that Spike couldn't put onto the paper. It was signed simply, "all my love, Spike."  
  
Tears stung her eyes and began to fall steadily again as Buffy removed the heavily creased sheet of paper. She read the title, "Do you remember," her lips moving slowly as the words rolled over her tongue.  
  
"It's been over a hundred starry nights and even more golden sunrises. Seasons slipped by, snowflakes and autumn leaves go unnoticed. After so long, it all seems so normal, so natural, so right. We've laughed and cried, but not together. Because we haven't spoken in years.  
  
I don't even remember you that much anymore. Just smoky wisps of memories, fragmented pieces of the past. A faded picture, a dusty bottle of perfume, a tarnished ring, a threadbare sweater. Reminders of who we used to be, a testament to a different place and time.  
  
I don't even think about you that much anymore. Until that song plays on the radio, or that car speeds past me on the highway. My heart flutters and your face flashes before me. But that doesn't mean I remember.  
  
I don't even remember about us anymore. I don't think about you every day, every time I pass your picture. I don't wonder where you are, every time I slip on my duster. I don't bring up memories of our dates, every time I walk out the door. I don't laugh about your terrible driving, every time I get into my car. I don't smile at your silly sense of humor every time I go out to dinner I don't resist the urge to call you, every time I see a blonde woman with green eyes. I don't remember what it was like to be close to you, every time I see couples together. I don't remember your arms around me, every time I dance to the pulsating music in a club. I don't replay our more interesting conversations, every time my mind drifts away.  
  
I don't remember anymore. There's nothing to remember because that's the past. We're different people now, I tell myself But those words doesn't stop the inevitable blush that colors my cheeks Every time I try to catch your eye across a crowded room, even though you aren't there. The logic doesn't diminish the smile that threatens to break my face Whenever I hear your name mentioned in conversation. And every time I turn away because I don't remember what it was like to be beside you. I can't bear to think of you with someone new but I don't remember how we used to be.  
  
I don't remember how much I miss you. I don't remember how sorry I am. I don't remember how much I love you. I don't remember how perfect we were together. I don't remember. Do you?"  
  
Buffy stared blankly at the last two words of the poem, no longer feeling like she had made the right decision. "My God," she whispered, "what did I do?" 


	12. Friends

Part 12  
  
The words swam before her eyes, dark blue ink blending into the cream- colored paper until all Buffy saw was a mass of scribbles, circles and loops that didn't make any sense. Time seemed to stop; everything in the world came to a halt as Buffy sat alone, her heart heavy. Nothing had changed between them; she had chased Spike away, only this time it was forever. Buffy gnawed at her pouting lower lip, angry with herself for thinking that things would be different. She was still the same impulsive, tempestuous person she had been three years ago.  
  
"But he still cares about me," Buffy reminded herself, clutching his poem tightly in her fist. The raw emotions leapt off the page: pain, anguish, turmoil, regret. But there was something else, an odd formality to Spike's words, as if he was trying to say goodbye without really wanting to leave. Buffy smoothed the paper out over the coffee table, studying the scrawled words without making sense of them. Spike didn't love her anymore but that didn't change how she felt, how much she needed him. Even if he could never love her again, she needed to repair the shattered bonds between them. Buffy needed Spike in her life, he was her anchor in the turbulent sea of life; without Spike, she floated aimlessly, water crashing over her in waves, with no will to do anything more then simply exist.  
  
Buffy's voice was strong, determined, in command, "I won't let him leave me. I can't!" Stuffing her feet into a worn pair of sneakers, Buffy grabbing her keys and her wallet. "I've gotta find him," she said, dashing out the door, "we're not going to do this again." The elevator was somewhere between the twentieth and the twenty-first floor, the green lights seemed to mock Buffy as she waited for the doors to open. Too impatient to wait, Buffy yanked open the door to the stairwell, dashing down the white corridors, not even feeling the steps beneath her feet. She didn't care that Spike had left, that he claimed it was over. He never gave up on her; in fact he had done everything possible to convince her of his love and devotion. For the first time in years, Buffy wasn't filled with self-pity or overwhelming feelings of betrayal. She knew that her impulsive, self-centered decisions had splintered the bonds of trust that had bound their hearts together. I have to fix this, she thought, her mind racing as she sprinted out of the stairwell and into the foyer of her building.  
  
Pushing open the door that separated the bright entranceway from the street outside, Buffy stood in the center of the sidewalk. She had no idea where to go next, New York wasn't a small town like Sunnydale, and Spike could have gone anywhere. "You looking for someone ma'm?" The weekend doorman's quiet voice broke through her thoughts and Buffy spun to face him. "Yes, a friend of mine, he just left a few minutes ago. Black leather jacket, platinum blonde hair. Did you see which way he went?" Her eyes were wild with desperation, maybe by some strange twist of fate she would be able to find Spike, maybe she would have a second chance to make things right. The doorman nodded, "yes ma'm. I saw him not ten minutes ago, headed up that way," he pointed down the street. "Asked me where the nearest bar was. I told him, it's two blocks up and one block over. Nice little place, probably not too crowded on a night like this."  
  
Buffy was already running down the sidewalk by the time he finished answering her question. "Thank you," she called back to the doorman, her blonde hair whipping wildly around her face in the chilly breeze. He nodded, glad that he could help. Buffy dashed down the street, hating the sense of déjà vu that threatened to overwhelm her. She had to find Spike; she couldn't let him walk out of her life for a second time, not without some kind of fight. Even if it took years, she was going to make it up to him; she had to make him see that she did remember, that she had never forgotten how perfect they were together.  
  
Her head spun wildly as she stood on the street corner, the doorman hadn't said which way "one block over" was. Catching a glimpse of bright neon lights to her left, Buffy waited impatiently for the traffic light to glow green. "Finally," she muttered as the white lights shone brightly, telling her that it should be safe to cross the intersection. Buffy raced across the street, not paying attention to the small crowd of people crossing on either side of her. She stopped abruptly on the corner, having spied a familiar leather-clad figure smoking casually against the side of a nearby building. "Spike!" Her voice caught in the howling wind and his head snapped up at the sound.  
  
"Spike," she repeated loudly, walking hesitantly towards him. The tip of his cigarette glowed red, wisps of smoke curling around his sharp features. His blue eyes bored holes through Buffy, icy orbs that chilled her to the depths of her soul. Everything else seemed to fade away except his piercing gaze; Buffy's eyes never left his as she walked closer. Stopping less then a foot away from him, she stood frozen, struggling to catch her breath. Her fingers, bright red from the cold, trembled as they reached out to grab the cigarette from his lips. Buffy threw it in a nearby puddle, not noticing the angry hiss it made; the only thing she could see was Spike, the only thing she cared about was the man in front of her, the vampire who meant more to her then anything in the world.  
  
He raised his scarred eyebrow deliberately, questions racing through his head. For an instant Spike allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy that Buffy really did care about him, that she wasn't going to let him walk out of her life without a fight. Smacking himself mentally for being such a simple-minded fool, Spike brought his attention back to her shivering form. "Now was that necessary," he drawled. His voice was too polite, his face dangerously calm and indifferent. Buffy was too cold to notice, too scared to comment, too much in love to care. "This has to stop," she said, practically yelling over the shriek of the wind and the cacophony of car horns. "I can't let you just leave, Spike! I love you too much to let that happen again."  
  
Buffy wasn't trying to be calm anymore; she didn't care about how pathetic or weak she looked. Her pride had led her down the seemingly endless path of loneliness. It had left her alone in a strange world, one where she felt awkward and out-of-place. She knew her voice was bordering on hysterical but it didn't matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was Spike. "I remember," she said, desperate to break through the irritating mask of indifference that he was hiding behind. "I never forgot, I never could. I didn't move on, Spike.I just kept waiting.hoping.wishing that someday you'd come back.and I'd get another chance to tell you how sorry I am."  
  
The muscles in Spike's jaw were working in overtime, the howling wind drowning out his low growl of anger. He had to be strong about this, "little late for that," he said, brushing past Buffy. Grabbing his arm, Buffy spun him around to face her. "Is it," she asked, her eyes blazing with something Spike's overly descriptive vocabulary couldn't name. He sighed in frustration; he was so tired of chasing ghosts, tired of following lost dreams down a broken path. At the same time, he knew that Buffy was a part of him. She made him feel complete, like he was more then a vampire, not just a soulless demon. Buffy made him feel like a man, she made him feel loved.  
  
"Spike, we have to stop this," Buffy pleaded, her eyes begging Spike to listen to her. He sighed deeply, "stop what? Stop running away from each other? Stop ignoring the tension between us? What should we stop doing, Slayer?" Tears filled Buffy's eyes, but she didn't care how desperate she looked, "I can't lose you Spike.when you're not here it's like I'm falling apart.every day another piece breaks away..and there's nothing I can do to stop it." Buffy looked wildly at Spike, hoping that she was making some kind of sense to him, praying that her words were having an effect on him. "Please, can't we try this again? I'm not asking for romance, I'm not asking you to forget everything..I just want you back in my life.as my friend."  
  
Buffy's voice dropped to a whisper, "I need you here." She fixed her eyes on the concrete sidewalk, unable to look at Spike. "Is that what you want," Spike asked, taking a step closer to Buffy, "friendship?" She looked up, nodding slowly, her eyes never leaving his. Buffy was lying to herself and to Spike; she wanted more then his friendship, she wanted his love. But she had ruined any chance of them being anything more then just friends, now Buffy knew she had to settle for friendship, anything to get Spike back into her life. A look of understanding passed over Spike's face as he looked at Buffy; she would never be able to love him again, he had ruined any chance of them being anything more then friends. "Alright," he said, resigning himself to her friendship instead of her love. Spike would do anything to get Buffy back into his life, even if it meant lying to himself and denying his true feelings.  
  
She brightened, "so are we okay?" Spike nodded slowly, deliberately pausing before he spoke, "yeah." Deep down he knew that they would never be "okay," he and Buffy couldn't survive as simply friends, they were meant to be lovers. They were made for each other, the perfect balance of darkness and light. He remembered telling her once that love wasn't hearts and flowers, that it was passion, raw and unrelenting. Shaking his head, Spike turned his attention back to the woman in front of him. She was shivering, her beautiful green eyes red-rimmed and her lips a ghastly pale. Her hands were stuffed deep in her coat pockets, tight fists clutching to the silky lining of her jacket as Buffy fought back tears of disappointment.  
  
Buffy offered him a tight smile, it was killing her how casual and indifferent Spike looked; she kept hoping against hope that he would break the invisible barrier between them. She wanted him to dramatically sweep her into his arms, cradling her petite body against the familiar planes of his muscular chest. Buffy ducked her head down, watching the way the light reflected off the recycled fragments of glass mixed into the pavement beneath her sneakers. Gnawing on her lower lip, she pushed a small pebble with the toe of her shoe, wishing that he would reach out and push aside the locks of hair falling around her face. She needed to feel his hand tracing the contours of her face, gentle feather-light caresses that sent shivers of cold and tremors of warmth coursing through her body. If she tipped her head the right way, Buffy would be in the perfect position to kiss Spike, her lips a hairbreadth from his. Unconsciously she licked her lips, immediately regretting her action when the biting cold settled over the moisture.  
  
Spike watched her, an odd mixture of longing and something else that looked like pain on his face. Sighing heavily, Buffy took a step away from him. She hated that he was uncomfortable in her presence, how her close proximity filled him with anguish. "So what time's your flight," she asked, mentally pleading with him to say that he wasn't going back to Australia, that he was staying in New York. Turning his head away from Buffy, Spike watched the cars sailing through the streets, not seeing what was in front of him. He glanced at his watch, "ten minutes ago." Buffy looked up quickly, her eyes glowing with excitement that she quickly hid, "so you're staying," she asked. Spike nodded, "yeah, looks like it," he said dryly. He hated how Buffy wouldn't look at him, that she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. The rejection stung sharper then anything Spike had felt in years. This was worse then any beating he had ever suffered, the pain seemed to cut right through his mind, engulfing his body and eating away at whatever was left of his spirit.  
  
They stared blankly at each other for several long minutes before Spike broke the silence. "Better get back to your apartment," he said, biting his tongue before he slipped and called Buffy "pet". She nodded, rubbing her gloved hands together, trying to get some circulation back into her numb fingers. "Yeah, I probably should," she said half-heartedly. "Do you have work tomorrow," Spike asked, needing to make some kind of conversation as they walked up the block towards Buffy's apartment. Out of habit, he had fallen into step beside her. Buffy shook her head, "took the rest of the week off." He nodded, processing the information, not sure how to act in order to stay within the confines of their newly defined relationship.  
  
Reaching the front door of her building in what felt like seconds, Buffy turned to face Spike, shifting awkwardly from one foot to another. "So you're going to be in town for a while," she asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. Spike nodded, "yeah, the next semester doesn't start until after a week after New Year's, so I don't need to be back on campus until the third of January." Buffy's eyes widened, "that's a long break," she said, mentally calculating how long Spike would be able to stay in New York, if he decided he wanted to stay. Since today was either the fourth or fifth of December, depending on how late it was, they had a little over a month in the City; assuming of course that Spike was going to stay.  
  
As if he could read her mind, Spike looked away from Buffy, his hands stuffed deep inside his pockets as he rocked on the balls of his feet. "Soooo," he said, drawing out the word for as long as possible, trying to figure out the right way to tell Buffy that he was staying in New York until he absolutely needed to go back to Australia. She forced a giggle, something to break the silence. "You want to get something to eat tomorrow night," she asked, "I promise no big emotional breakdowns or screaming fits." Spike smirked, a grim twisting of his mouth, "yeah, that'd be nice. It's been a while since I've eaten in the City. Wouldn't mind doing it again. Pretty nice restaurants here, if my memory serves."  
  
Buffy nodded, resisting the urge to grin at her small victory. "So I'll see you tomorrow night.actually more like later today," she asked, her voice small but not hopeful. She had come too far and had been hurt too many times to get her hopes up again. Spike nodded, "yeah, say seven-ish?" "That sounds good," Buffy said, not realizing how forced her smile was or how high-pitched her voice had become. "Alright, see you then," Spike said leaning in towards Buffy, but turning away at the last moment, before he crossed the line between talking and kissing. "Bye," Buffy said as she walked into the apartment, not wanting to see her retreating back.  
  
Alone outside, Spike dug in the pockets of his duster for a cigarette. "Bloody hell," he swore. "At least we're not screaming at each other," he mused darkly, searching for the elusive silver lining in the black cloud that was his life. "Just friends," he mocked in a falsetto voice, angry with himself for pushing Buffy away. He hated how so many years had slipped past before he tried to set things right. "Well, she didn't stake me, which is an improvement," he said, lifting his arm to signal for a cab, "now I just have to get her to forgive me." 


	13. Fate and Destiny?

Buffy tapped her pen against the edge of her desk, trying to concentrate on the designs spread out before her. The final costume sketches needed to be approved and put in the mail before the office closed for Christmas. Buffy had five hours to meet her deadline but her mind was nowhere near focused on the costumes. All of her thoughts kept drifting back to a certain bleached blonde vampire. Groaning in frustration, Buffy pinched the bridge of her nose, resting her elbows on the desk. "This is never going to work," she complained, "I can never be just friends with Spike." Every time they were together Buffy could feel the pain she had been holding onto for three years slowly fading away. It had only been three weeks since Spike arrived in New York, but Buffy felt better then she had in years. "This is crazy," she said, "I'm falling in love with him all over again, even though there's no chance for us." If Buffy had been honest with herself, she would have admitted that she had never fallen out of love with Spike; her passion had been overridden by her wounded pride, now her heart was slowly being released from the prison of her rational mind. But she was too tired to be honest or to think clearly about anything, except how many more hours she had to suffer through until she saw him again.  
  
Staring blankly at the blinking cursor on his computer screen, Spike let out a frustrated sigh. No matter how many different approaches he took to his writing, every click of the keyboard seemed to be focused on a certain blonde Slayer. Every word described her, each new scene was somehow related to her life, everything he wrote reminded Spike of her. "This is bloody ridiculous," Spike mumbled, pushing aside his laptop and beginning to pace around the hotel room for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. He couldn't stop thinking about Buffy; she haunted his dreams and consumed his conscious mind. "I can never be friends with her, I need more," Spike complained to the empty room. Sinking down onto the bed, Spike's thoughts took him back to the conversation that had haunted him for the last two days.  
  
*********************** The small calendar was covered in a series of blue scribbles, black boxes and red slashes. Buffy sighed deeply at the wall calendar, clutching the edge of the paper in her fist as she counted the days out loud. "He's been here for seventeen days," she exclaimed, "seventeen days and not so much as one suggestive comment or one measly innuendo.it's all strictly platonic..God, he's really changed!" The thought was both appealing and sobering, on one hand Buffy was glad that Spike was being respectful of their new relationship, but at the same time she hated having to admit that his feelings towards her had changed, that he had erased all traces of their fiery relationship from his mind.  
  
A quick glance at the clock told Buffy that she needed to do less complaining and more primping if she wanted to be ready to go when Spike came to pick her up. David had given opera tickets out to the senior employees, in addition to their annual Christmas bonuses. Despite having been in New York for years, Buffy had yet to see an opera and she wanted to make sure her first experience was memorable. When David had pressed the envelope into her hands at the Christmas dinner party, she had been speechless, but her thoughts immediately focused on Spike. He was cultured, or had at least been exposed to culture at some point in his life, making Spike the perfect date. Besides, Buffy thought, I really want to see him in some formal wear. It had taken the better part of an hour for her to get up the nerve to ask him and when she did, the words seemed to tumble out of her mouth like rushing water. To Buffy's relief he had agreed, saying that the opera was one of the few things in life that was worth suffering through in a suit and tie. She had just nodded, too excited at his acceptance of the invitation to think of anything else.  
  
Twisting her diamond ring nervously around her right ring finger, Buffy self-consciously smoothed her hair, staring in the mirror, searching for any flaws in her appearance. The pealing of the doorbell made her jump two feet in the air; Buffy took one last hurried look at her makeup before dashing to let Spike in. Swinging open the door, she smiled widely, "hi." Spike just stared blankly at her, his mouth half-open, trying to remember how to form vowel sounds and simple words. Buffy was a vision in emerald green silk, the bright color making her skin glow and her eyes sparkle. The vibrant colored material clung to her body, accentuating her subtle curves as it fell to just above her ankle. Her left shoulder was completely bare; the only thing holding the gown up was a thin beaded strap over her right shoulder. The dress flowed over her body, stopping centimeters above her delicate shoes; the bottom hem was a series of ruffled layers that added to its understated beauty. Her blonde hair hung in loose waves around her face and the only jewelry she had on was her diamond ring and earrings.  
  
"Are you alright," Buffy asked, waving her hand in front of Spike's face, "earth to Spike." He grabbed her hand, tipping it towards his lips until they gently brushed her knuckles. "You look gorgeous," he said, his voice low and sensual, "absolutely gorgeous." Buffy blushed red to the roots of her hair; she had forgotten how charming Spike could be when he wanted to be. "And you look handsome," she said, blatantly admiring his black suit. It was obviously expensive, tailored to fit every contour of Spike's lean frame. A white shirt and black tie completed the outfit; it was simple but commanded attention, just like him. "We match," Buffy teased, drawing a connection between her black shoes and Spike's ebony ensemble, as he draped her wrap around her shoulders. He raised his scarred eyebrow, "would've matched better if someone told me what color her dress was. I just took a guess." Buffy's eyes danced, "and miss seeing the look on your face? No way! That was absolutely priceless!" Shaking his head, Spike held the elevator door open for Buffy, "glad I'm so amusing, pet," he said.  
  
The opera was longer then Buffy had expected, but she enjoyed every second of it. As they walked out of the theatre, Buffy wrapped her arm around Spike's waist. "Thanks for coming with me," she said. He nodded, curling his free arm around her shoulders, "my pleasure." The December air was bitterly cold, making Buffy wonder if the City would be blanketed in snow for Christmas. She had never seen snow on Christmas morning and she wanted to see if it was as magically as the movies made it seem. "What're you thinking about," Spike asked as they waited for a cab. Buffy looked up at him, her eyes wide and child-like, "snow," she replied simply. "Snow," Spike repeated, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Nodding vigorously, Buffy explained, "I was just thinking about how cool it would be if there was snow for Christmas."  
  
A look of understanding passed over Spike's face, "got it. A white Christmas. Keep forgetting you Californians don't see too many of those." Buffy raised her eyebrows in disbelief, "and you've seen so many," she countered. "Yeah,' Spike answered, shrugging out of his jacket, draping it over Buffy's shoulders that were barely covered by the scrap of emerald material. She smiled appreciatively, her grin widening as he gently squeezed her shoulders, drawing her closer to his body to block the chilly breeze. "Seen a few snowstorms in my day.it's nice to see them on Christmas. I can see why people like them so much." A cab pulled up alongside them, cutting off anything else Spike might have said.  
  
They rode back to Buffy's apartment in silence, a comfortable silence that was filled with nostalgic memories of childhood and Christmases long ago. "Spike," Buffy asked as they stood in front of her apartment door. "Yeah pet?" She drew a deep breath, "do you believe in Fate? You know the whole everything happens for a reason and there's no such thing as coincidence." Her voice dropped to a whisper, so low that Spike had to strain to make out the words. "And that there's one right person for everyone, and no matter what happens, they'll still end up together because it's all destiny?"  
  
Spike looked at her for a long minute, trying to gauge what she was really asking him. "I believe in Fate," he replied simply, "that everything happens for a reason." Buffy nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer, before turning her attention to her keys. Leaning up on her tiptoes, Buffy brushed Spike's cheek with her lips, gently grazing his razor-sharp cheekbones. "I had a great time tonight," she whispered in his ear, lingering next to him for a second longer then she should have. Opening the apartment door, she looked at Spike, her head resting against the door's edge, "I'll talk to you tomorrow." It was more of a statement then a question, without fail they talked every day, even when they had spent most of the previous evening together. He nodded slowly, "alright. And Buffy? I had fun tonight. Thanks." Buffy smiled, "you're welcome." She waited until he was in the elevator before whispering, "no, thank you Spike."  
  
***********************  
  
Spike shook his head, trying to get the conversation to stop repeating itself in his mind. He was hoping that Buffy's strange questions were her way of asking him if their relationship stood a chance. Sighing, he stared blankly out the window that was covered in drapes.  
  
"I don't know what to do." Buffy's voice echoed through her empty office, as she squeezed the arm-rests of her chair tightly.  
  
"It's all so confusing," Spike complained as he resumed pacing.  
  
"I love him," Buffy whispered, "but I know he doesn't love me anymore, how could he?"  
  
"I love her," Spike said, "but it's useless, she could never love me again."  
  
"I just wish I could tell him."  
  
"I wish she knew," Spike whispered, "I wish I could tell her."  
  
Biting her lower lip, Buffy sat back at her desk, "I just want things to be better," she complained, "I want me and Spike to be better."  
  
"Why can't we just forget everything else," Spike asked himself, "what's it take?"  
  
"What's it going to take to make Spike see how much I love him?" 


	14. Dawn's Advice

"No Dawnie, it's alright. Yeah, I'm sure. Uh-huh. I will. Right, well have fun. Tell Lawrence I said 'hi'. Talk to you then. Alright, love you too. Bye." Hanging up her cell phone, Buffy dropped it onto the sofa with an exaggerated sigh. Spike emerged from the kitchen, carrying two steaming cups of hot chocolate topped off with white marshmallows. "What's going on? How's Dawn doing?" Buffy accepted the proffered cup, flashing a smile at Spike before answering. "She's good. Just called to tell me that she's not coming to New York for Christmas."  
  
Spike didn't say anything; he just sipped his hot chocolate and waited for her to continue. "She's going to Aspen," Buffy said, her voice high and mocking, "with Lawrence." At Spike's confused look, she giggled. "Her boyfriend," she clarified and he nodded in understanding. Buffy sighed deeply, staring blankly at the sofa cushions. "What's the matter," Spike asked, placing his hand over hers, concern etched in his sharp features. Buffy shook her head, "nothing," she mumbled.  
  
"Right," Spike said, drawing out the word as he stared intently at Buffy. She blushed under his penetrating gaze, his eyes had a way of piercing right through herm leaving Buffy exposed and vulnerable. Her eyes dropped to the blanket draped over the back of the sofa and her fingers tangled themselves in the fringe. Smoothing invisible knots out of the blue chenille, Buffy tried to find the right words to explain what she was feeling to Spike. "I just never imagined being alone on Christmas." Biting back the urge to tell Buffy that she wasn't alone, Spike just nodded. "Why don't you go visit the witches," he suggested, "or call the Watcher. I'm sure they'd love to see you."  
  
Buffy shook her head, "no, it's way too last minute. I mean tomorrow's Christmas Eve, there's no way I could get a flight out of the City in time.besides it would be awkward." She trailed off, not wanting to explain to Spike how she felt like an outsider amongst her friends during the holidays. Although none of her friends would ever admit to or hint at it, Buffy had a gut-feeling that her friends invited her out of sympathy because she was still single. Perceptive as ever, Spike knew what she was talking about before Buffy uttered another syllable. He understood what it was like to be alone, separate from everyone else, not necessarily excluded but never completely welcome. His unbeating heart twisted at the thought of Buffy spending Christmas alone, she was better then that; she deserved more then a bottle of wine and some forlorn decorations. She deserved to be surrounded by her family and friends, cooking some elaborate dinner, wrapping a mountain of presents to put underneath an enormous tree that threatened to scrape the ceiling, her house a flurry of activity.  
  
Buffy licked her lips, studying her hands intently, searching for the secrets of the universe in her red nail polish. She didn't even want to look at Spike, there was too much to think about without having to deal with his sympathy. Buffy had been skirting around the issue of asking Spike to spend Christmas with her and Dawn, now that Dawn wasn't coming to visit, there was nothing standing in her way. "Spike," she said tentatively, hoping that she wasn't making an enormous mistake. "Yeah, pet," he asked, his face a casual mask of indifference. Spike didn't want to push Buffy, he knew that this was her decision and nothing he said would change that. "Would you.I mean, it's completely up to you.and if you say 'no' then I'll understand.but I was wondering." Spike's lips twitched into a faint smile at her nervousness, "just spit it out," he pressed gently. Smiling tightly, Buffy's words rushed out, "would you like to spend Christmas here?" She smoothed her hair nervously, "I know it's last second and everything but.."  
  
Before she could finish the sentence, Spike's hand was resting on top of hers. "I'd love to," he said, staring adoringly at Buffy. Her face brightened, "really?" Spike nodded, "yeah." Before he could say anything else, his cell phone rang and ruined the tender moment. Cursing under his breath, Spike crossed the room, fishing in the pocket of his duster for the phone. "Sorry about this," he said apologetically, glancing at the caller id, "but it's a bloke from work. Do you mind if I take this?" Buffy nodded emphatically, "go in my study, it's quieter." He flashed a quick grin in her direction, flipping open the black phone, "'Ello Ron. How are you?" Making his way down the hallway, Spike hoped that Buffy couldn't hear the loud giggles on the other end of the phone.  
  
"You're insane Spike," Dawn choked out between giggles, "who the hell is Ron?" Spike chuckled softly, closing the door behind him. "Sorry about that Nibblet, had to move out of hearing range. Didn't want your sis to know I was talking to you. She might start to suspect that your li'l trip to Aspen wasn't so last minute." Dawn tried to stop laughing, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline in surprise, "so you're there now? You and Buffy? In the same room? Together?!" Spike smirked, "yeah, Nibblet. In the same room and we haven't pulled out the stakes yet."  
  
Dawn mumbled something incoherent and Spike cocked his head to the side, "what was that?" She sighed melodramatically, "I was just saying that it only took you three years." "Don't start that again," Spike pleaded half- heartedly. "Fine," Dawn sing-songed before changing the subject, "dropping it. But anyway, I just wanted to see how everything was going with you two. Because someone hasn't been answering my e-mails." Spike grimaced, "yeah, sorry about that, Nibblet, I've had a lot on my mind. But I really appreciate you doing this for me, changing your plans and all." Dawn shook her head, "it's not an issue. Lawrence is thrilled and his parents are freakin' ecstatic. We talked to his mom last night and apparently his entire family is coming to Aspen. All nine of his uncles, their wives, his three aunts, their husbands and his five brothers with their wives and of course all their kids. That's also not counting all his cousins, their families and his grandparents! His mom said it was like sixty people! Sixty people, Spike! That's like a small football team!"  
  
She took a deep breath, "I mean I never wanted to meet all these people, especially not all at once! So now, thanks to you and your brilliant scheme, I have to meet them, spend the holidays with them and pretend that I remember all their names! And did I mention that we have to leave here in two hours if we want to get a room in his mom's house? It's absolutely nuts, I don't know what the hell I'm going to do!" Spike couldn't contain his laughter, which annoyed Dawn to no end. "It's not funny," she protested, her own voice breaking into giggles. He took a deep breath, "you're right, it's not. It's bloody hilarious. You've been dating that bloke for what? Two years? 'Bout time you met his family."  
  
Dawn grumbled, "still don't wanna," sounding exactly like her older sister. She brightened, "but anyway, how's the plan going? Any kissing? Shagging? Major emotional breakdowns?" Spike was shaking his head when he heard something about "shagging". "Dawn," he hissed, trying to sound appropriately shocked at her bluntness. "What, you expected me to be tactful," she teased, "I've been around Anya too long for any chance of that. But you're avoiding the question."  
  
The long pause on the other end of the phone was deafening, and since Spike didn't need to breath, Dawn's ear was filled with utter silence. She sighed in exasperation, "I swear, you and my sister are two of the biggest morons on the planet! All I've been hearing about for three years is how miserable the two of you are and now, after what, like six months of planning, you're finally in the same freakin' city as her and what do you do, oh Master vampire? You just dance around everything, dredging up the past to the point that Buffy probably wants to gag you, trying to pretend that you aren't completely ass over feet in love with her. And I know that you probably did something to trigger her wonderfully familiar relationship inferiority complex. Because if you ask me, she has no idea that you're still in love with her. And don't even try to pretend that you're just holding back to spare her. Buffy and subtlety just don't go together, you know that. If you keep waiting for the 'perfect moment,' then we're going to be here forever!"  
  
She took a deep breath and her voice was calmer when she continued. "Look, Spike, it's simple. Buffy loves you. You love her. It's not rocket science here." Spike broke in, "do you believe in Fate?" Dawn didn't answer right away, she took a second to reflect on the unexpected question. "Yeah, I do," she finally said, unknowingly echoing her sister's earlier words, "I think that some things are just meant to happen and there's nothing anyone can do about them."  
  
Spike nodded, satisfied with her answer, but still not ready to break free from the scorched ashes of his past. "Do you think I have a chance, Nibblet," he asked, his voice stripped free of any bravado. Dawn sighed loudly, "if I didn't think you had a chance, Spike, I wouldn't be talking to you. Now go out there and make things right with my sister. I don't care if it's too soon or too fast or any other excuse you can come up with to wait. Hell, I don't care if she throws you out on your ass, just stop pretending like life's going to fix itself. Cut the bullshit Spike and be honest with her. Tell her you love her and for the love of God, stop pacing before you ruin her rug"  
  
Stopping mid-stride, Spike leaned against the edge of Buffy's desk, his feet tapping impatiently. "Yes ma'm General Summers, ma'm," Spike said, his voice ringing with laughter. Dawn broke into another fit of giggles. "I'll talk to you later Spike. Good luck." "Thanks Nibblet and have a good holiday." Spike hung up the phone, staring at Buffy's bookshelf, amazed that a five minute conversation with Dawn was the last push he needed to tell Buffy how he felt. "When did she get so smart," he asked the empty room, Spike shook his head, turning out the study lights as he walked back into the hallway.  
  
Buffy looked over the back of the sofa when he walked back into the room. Her fingers were laced around her half-empty mug of hot chocolate and her green eyes twinkled like twin emeralds. She flashed Spike a smile as he eased onto the sofa beside her, picking up his deserted mug, tossing his cell phone on the table. "Anything important," she asked and Spike shook his head. "No, nothing too interesting. Just wanted to see how my time in New York was going." Buffy tipped her head, a playful look on her face, "and how is New York treating you?" Spike swallowed hard, taking another sip of chocolate. Here goes nothing, he thought. "Alright," he said, his voice low and seductive, sending shivers through Buffy's body, his eyes filled with obvious love and desire. "Just alright," she said softly, inching closer to Spike, her heart racing with trepadation. Shadows darkened his face as Spike leaned in close to Buffy, his mouth hovering just above her ear. "No where else I'd rather be," he murmured softly, his breath tickling the stray locks of hair tucked behind her ear.  
  
Brushing her wayward blonde tendrils off her forehead, Spike's strong fingers turned Buffy's face to meet his. Her mouth was dry and staring into Spike's sapphire eyes, Buffy could not remember how to speak. She opened her mouth, "Spike," she choked out. Spike's index finger covered her lips, "no more talking, gorgeous." He bent his head down to meet hers, his lips just grazing hers. Spike's mouth captured her lips in a passionate kiss that left Buffy gasping for breath. She had forgotten how Spike's kisses made her feel; Buffy was drowning and floating at the same time, drunk on the sensations he was invoking within her. "I missed you," she whispered when they finally broke apart. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Buffy pulled Spike closer to her, "missed you so much." His lips descended on hers again before Buffy could say anything else. They could talk later, Spike thought; now he needed to show her how much he loved her.  
  
The hall clock chimed five, the loud clanging noise jarring Buffy from the comforting realm of sleep. Her head was resting on Spike's chest, her cheek nestled against his pectoral muscles, long blond curls cascading over his forearm, her body curled tightly around his. She could feel his eyes on her and Buffy lifted her head lazily. "Morning," she whispered, her voice rough from sleep. She rested her arm across his chest, cupping her chin in her hand. Spike's blue eyes looked down at her, his hand smoothing her flattened hair out. "Morning," Spike replied, the arm around her waist tightening possessively. Buffy smiled, leaning forward to place an almost chaste kiss on Spike's lips.  
  
"What time is it," she murmured sleepily. "A few minutes after five," Spike replied, his face filled with adoration for the woman wrapped up in his arms. "Mmm," Buff purred, her head returning to it's original pillow on Spike's chest, "wish we could stay like this forever." Spike looked down at the top of her head questioningly, wishing he could see her face, "why can't we?" Sighing in mock irritation, Buffy lifted her head, "Christmas Eve? Ring any bells? Day that precedes big gift-giving holiday? Religious holy day?" Spike chuckled, kissing the tip of her nose lovingly, "I know what day it is, sweetness. Don't understand why it makes a difference, though."  
  
Rolling over onto his side, Spike rested his head on his elbow, staring intently at Buffy, waiting for her explanation. "Because there's a lot to do before tomorrow," she said, "I don't even think I have anything to make dinner with. I just figured me and Dawn would go shopping once she got here." Spike made a tsking sound, "how about this, we stay here all day," he trailed his fingers over the curve of her hip suggestively, "and then I take you out tonight?" Buffy's eyes brightened, "really?" He nodded, "promise." Buffy sighed in contentment, her insides turning to mush as Spike trailed kisses down her neck, his fingers dancing over her body. Pressing her body closer to his, Buffy tangled her hands in his platinum curls, craving more physical contact. Spike chuckled softly as he continued his exquisite torture, never wanting to leave Buffy's bed.  
  
Nearly twelve hours later, Buffy rolled out of bed, stretching the tight muscles of her back. Tilting her head backwards and arching her chest forward, she smiled with grim satisfaction as her spine let out a series of pops and snaps. "Sore," Spike asked, his head appearing over her shoulder. Buffy shook her head, "a little stiff, but not sore. Nothing a hot shower can't fix." He nodded, "alright, well take your time, beautiful, because our dinner reservation isn't until seven-ten." Buffy raised her eyebrows incredulously, "how did you get reservations anywhere on Christmas Eve? Especially on such short notice?" Spike just smiled, "I have my skills, pet."  
  
Her eyes were dancing as Buffy walked across the room, "and I suppose you won't tell," she pouted. Spike's eyes fell, "now don't do the lip-thing," he protested feebly, "you know I can't resist that." Buffy grinned saucily, "you have your skills, I have mine." He growled, springing out of bed, chasing Buffy down the hall towards the bathroom. "Little minx," he said when he finally caught her. Buffy's back was pressed against the bathroom door and Spike was leaning into her, his hands on either side of the door. She gasped for breath, trying to stop her laughter, "you know you love it," she said breathlessly. Her hand froze, hovering above his cheek, her gentle caress forgotten when Buffy realized her slip of the tongue. Spike's face broke into a broad smile and he kissed the underside of her palm, capturing her hand between his and trailing kisses up her arm. "Got me there," he murmured softly.  
  
"Spike, I have to take a shower," Buffy protested weakly and he released her hand, giving her a gentle push towards the shower. "Go on," he said, "don't let me stop you." She turned to face him, cradling his face between her palms, "planning on joining me?" Spike smirked, "thought you'd never ask, gorgeous." She pulled two towels out of the closet, turning to face him, her teeth gnawing nervously on her lower lip. "Spike," she began, her voice dropping to just above a whisper. "I think I'm falling in love you." He strained to hear the last words, not believing what Buffy had just said. "Sweetheart," he said, closing the distance between them, "look at me." Slowly Buffy lifted her tear-filled green eyes to meet his imploring gaze, "I never stopped loving you, not for an instant." She swallowed hard over the lump in her throat, "really?" Spike nodded, his fingers brushing her tears away, "really." 


	15. Christmas

Buffy twisted her wet hair between her fingers, wringing out the excess water before she wrapped a white towel around her body. She hummed quietly, the song had something to do with ships and sailing on Christmas morning, but she could never seem to remember all the words. It had been one of her mom's favorite carols, and it seemed to fit her perky mood. Buffy couldn't decide whether the smile on her face was from Spike's presence or from the infectious holiday spirit. Maybe she had the CD somewhere, Buffy thought as she flipped through her closet. Shaking her head, she pulled out a long navy blue skirt and held it up to her hips. The shiny material cascaded straight down to her knees before plunging into a dramatically slanted hemline, stopping just above her right ankle and leaving her entire left calf bare. "Perfect," she murmured, tossing the skirt onto the bed, "now I need a shirt."  
  
Cold hands wrapped themselves around her shoulders, turning Buffy away from her clothes. "Talking to yourself again," Spike teased, his hands pushing her damp tendrils away from her shoulders. Buffy shook her head ruefully, "just trying to get dressed," she said. "Not all of us keep spare clothes in my Jeep." Spike's eyes narrowed, his voice tinged with laughter, "it just so happens that I picked up my dry cleaning on the way back here yesterday." "Two days ago," Buffy corrected, reaching up to smooth invisible wrinkles from his white shirt, "and you're a rotten liar." Spike chuckled, "you caught me, pet. I had the suit there for safe-keeping. Figured I'd offer to take you and Dawn out on Christmas Eve anyway. Now that the Nibblet's in Aspen, I have you all to myself."  
  
Leaning in closer, Spike brushed a gentle kiss over her temple. "Not that I'm complaining," he said in a throaty whisper. Buffy flushed red at the compliment, still not used to the open adoration and unmasked desire in Spike's eyes. "I still have to get dressed," she protested weakly, untangling his arms from her waist. Spike's eyes glittered mischievously, "I think I can help with that," he said. Leading Buffy to the edge of the bed, he pushed her shoulder gently, "sit down gorgeous, and I'll be right back."  
  
Buffy licked her lips, watching Spike's retreating back. What's he up to, she wondered, practically giddy with excitement. "Here you go," Spike proclaimed as he re-entered the room, carrying a large red and white striped shopping bag. "I left the rest in the living room." Buffy's eyes widened, "the rest," she squeaked out. He nodded, "can't have Christmas without presents." Right, she thought numbly, trying to figure out how she was going to explain the three year's worth of presents that were hidden in the back of her closet. Ever since she had left Sunnydale, Buffy hadn't stopped buying shirts, books or CDs that reminded her of Spike. She had hidden her purchases from everyone, never telling her friends about her little secrets, always hoping that one day he would come back and she would be able to give the gifts to him. Spike watched Buffy intently, trying to figure out how he was going to explain the pile of gifts that were sitting in her living room. He had been buying her presents for the last three years; birthday presents from Europe, Christmas gifts from Australia, dust collectors from everywhere he had traveled, all things that reminded Spike of his love. After talking to Dawn and making sure that she was going to call Buffy the next day, he had loaded everything into her Jeep, emptying almost an entire suitcase worth of presents into a sea of rainbow colored shopping bags, during a quick trip back to his hotel.  
  
"Well, are you going to open your present," Spike asked. Buffy's eyebrows knit together in mock confusion, "but it isn't Christmas," she teased. Spike growled softly, "just open it," and she nodded gleefully, diving into the tissue paper. She pulled out a package that felt suspiciously like clothes and a small box that could have been jewelry. "Which one first," she asked, deliberately teasing Spike with her slowness. He pushed the larger one into her hands, soft fabric squishing against the tissue paper. Buffy tore into the paper, all teasing forgotten, gasping when she pulled out the white silk blouse. "Spike, it's beautiful," she said, rubbing her hands over the delicate material. It seemed to flow effortlessly into her lap, a pool of cool silk enveloping her fingertips. The shirt was like nothing Buffy had ever seen before; the neckline extended across her collarbone in a sort-of boat-neck style, draping her tanned skin in what felt like yards of silk. Two thin straps extended out from beneath the neckline, somehow securing the material over her shoulders. Spaghetti-thin straps crisscrossed over the entire back of the shirt, leaving the majority of her back exposed.  
  
"Where did you find this," Buffy murmured, her fingers tracing the strings as she admired the gift. Spike smiled in satisfaction, "Paris," he said nonchalantly, ignoring the wide-eyed stare that Buffy shot in his direction. "Saw it and couldn't resist," he said, pushing the small box into her hands. This time Buffy didn't try to slowly open the paper; she ripped into it eagerly, unwrapped in white box no larger then a CD jewel case. Inside were nestled two thick hairpins that looked like black chopsticks, the ends were dotted with tiny crystals that sent prisms of light dancing all over the room. Before she could ask where they were from, Spike took her free hand between his. "Wear it tonight," he asked softly and all Buffy could do was nod.  
  
It was all so overwhelming, like she had leapt onto a speeding train and had no idea where she was going or how to get off. But I don't want to get off, she thought, I don't want to stop whatever this is between me and Spike. "Give me a couple of minutes to put this on," she said, "and then I'll be ready to go." She paused, looking at Spike shyly, "would you help me put this on," she asked, holding the white top in her hand. "I'm just not sure how to get into it," she said, trailing off into nervous laughter.  
  
Spike didn't answer right away; he just studied Buffy for a long moment. "Is this too much," he asked, somehow knowing exactly what she was thinking about before she said a word. "Because if it's too soon and I'm rushing into things, then." Buffy covered his mouth with her hand, "it's not too much. It's just a little overwhelming, that's all. Don't want to chase you off." The last few words were barely above a whisper, and Spike had to strain in order to hear her. "Buffy, I love you," he said, looking at her bowed head, "and I'm not going anywhere, never gonna leave you again. I swear to you sweetheart, I'm not going to do that." She swallowed hard, lifting her head slowly to gaze at Spike with teary eyes. "I know that." Letting out a humorless laugh, she wiped her eyes roughly with the back of her hand. "I know that you're not going anywhere, but it just takes some getting used to.you know? This thing with us.all of this.it's like a whole new level of weird." Spike chuckled, "yeah, we're not too big on the normalcy, are we, gorgeous?" Her smile radiated genuine warmth, the tension of the previous moment already forgotten. "No, we're not," Buffy agreed, "but normal's overrated anyway." Spike's quiet laughter filled the room, "right you are sweetness, right you are." He stood up, suddenly serious, "now let's get you into this outfit so we can go to dinner." Buffy gazed coyly at Spike, "and then back here," she purred. It was more of a statement then a question, and Spike just nodded. Extending his hand, he pulled Buffy to her feet. "Anything you want, gorgeous, anything you want." Buffy's smile widened as her mind processed the potential implications of Spike's words.  
  
It was a few minutes after eleven when Buffy and Spike left the upscale French restaurant. "That was amazing," Buffy said, pulling her dark blue wrap tighter around her body. The wind howled through the streets, drowning out the sounds of traffic as Buffy and Spike waited for a cab. "Glad you liked it," Spike said, a genuine smile on his face, so far everything was working out perfectly. Dawn had helped him plan the Christmas surprise down to the last detail and Spike was amazed at how well everything was going. Dinner had been phenomenal, the conversation had been light without being trivial and they couldn't stop smiling adoringly at each other like they were keeping a secret from the rest of the world. Buffy looked exquisite in the silk blouse and Spike was thanking every deity that would listen for the fashion designer who had crafted the exquisite garment.  
  
A yellow taxi pulled up in front of the restaurant and they climbed in, away from the biting cold. "Where to," the cabbie asked, his voice bored. Spike told him Buffy's address and the driver nodded, pulling out into traffic without answering. In the backseat, Buffy snuggled against Spike, her wrap still tight around her shoulders. "Cold, sweetheart," he asked, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over her. "That's better," Buffy murmured, her cheek resting on his chest, her words slightly muffled. Spike smoothed her blonde hair with his free hand, the one that wasn't wrapped securely around Buffy's waist. "In case I forget," Buffy whispered sleepily, "I had a great time." Spike smiled, watching her drift off to sleep in his arms.  
  
When they pulled up in front of Buffy's apartment building, Spike peeled several bills off the money clip in his pocket, passing them up to the driver. "Merry Christmas," he said, carefully pulling Buffy out of the cab and into his arms. Her building's doorman hurried to close the cab door after them, before darting up the steps to open the door to the foyer. Pressing a crisp twenty dollar bill into his hand, Spike smiled appreciatively. "Have a good holiday," he said, making his way towards the elevator with Buffy nestled in his arms like a sleeping child. The doorman watched the blonde couple disappear behind the metallic gray door of the elevator. Once he was sure they were on their way upstairs, he peeked at the bill in his hand. "Nice guy," he murmured appreciatively before going back out into the cold to open the limo door for Mr. Osle and his wife.  
  
Outside Buffy's door Spike shifted her in his arms, balancing her weight against the doorframe as he searched his pockets for the keys. "Here," she murmured sleepily, dangling a keychain shaped like a sandal in front of his face. "Thanks," Spike said, slipping the key in the lock and opening the door without putting her down. Crossing the living room, he deposited Buffy on the sofa before going back to lock the door and turn on more lights. "When did you wake up, sweetheart," Spike asked, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt. Buffy stretched like a cat, lifting her arms over her head. "In the elevator," she purred, "somewhere around the second floor."  
  
Instead of sitting down on the couch beside her, Spike stood in front of Buffy, extending his hand to her. She tipped her head quizzically, "what are you doing?" He didn't answer, instead pulling her across the room towards the picture windows that overlooked the City. "Look outside," Spike said, standing behind Buffy with his arms around her waist. She gasped, a wide smile of childlike wonder on her face, as she watched enormous white flakes fall down from the sky. "It's snowing," she said with a giggle, tapping her fingernails against the glass. Spike chuckled, "just what you wanted, luv, a white Christmas." Turning away from the snow, Buffy wrapped her arms around Spike's neck. "It's perfect," she said, not just talking about the snow but the entire night; Buffy felt like Cinderella, granted one magical evening filled with fairy-tale perfection.  
  
As if on cue, her grandfather clock sounded midnight. Buffy leaned in to kiss Spike gently, "Merry Christmas," she said softly, the clock calling out the hours in the background. "Merry Christmas," Spike replied, softly kissing Buffy's lips, his hands caressing the sides of her face. Before he could deepen the kiss, Buffy was pulling away from him, her eyes glowing with excitement. "Do you want to open presents now," she chirped. Buffy was oblivious to the fact that she didn't have a Christmas tree or any other real decorations in her house, besides the little elf figurines on her coffee table. She always waited for Dawn to come over so they could put the decorations up together, somehow this year she had forgotten to even pull the boxes out from the closet in the guest bedroom. Nor did she care that her gifts weren't all wrapped in perfectly creased Christmas paper and topped with matching ribbons. All she knew was that it was Christmas and she was overwhelmed with feelings of love and happiness.  
  
Spike's eyes locked with hers, "impatient, aren't you sweetheart?" She nodded emphatically, studying Spike from beneath her thick black eyelashes. "Don't you want to," she pouted, her lower lip jutting out slightly. Tracing her lips with his thumb, Spike chuckled, "just teasing you, pet. You know I want to." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, smirking at Buffy in a devilishly sexy way that made her knees go weak. Buffy giggled, the high-pitched sound reminding Spike of sleigh bells. "Focus, Spike, focus! Presents now, shagging later." She kissed him quickly before he could say anything. She dashed down the hall, opening her bedroom door to dig dusty shopping bags out of her closet. Spike chuckled softly, "you're going to be the death of me, precious," he murmured good-naturedly.  
  
"I'll be right there," Buffy called, sticking her head out the door to yell into the hall. Spike nodded, taking one last look at the snow before moving into the kitchen to retrieve the presents he had hidden underneath the table. "Take your time, luv. No rush." Still muttering to himself, Spike started pulling boxes out of the bags and carrying the piles into the living room.  
  
He was just arranging the last box on the carpet when Buffy came back into the room, carrying a small stack of presents. She had changed out of the silk blouse and skirt, slipping on a pair of sweatpants and a fitted long- sleeved shirt. Smiling at Spike, she deposited the boxes on the other side of the sofa, trying vainly to disentangle the two stuffed shopping bag handles from her wrists. "There's a pair of sweats and a tee-shirt in my room," she said, "if you want to get changed. Unless you want to open presents in a suit." Spike chuckled, "thanks luv. Be back in a minute." While she waited for Spike to get changed, Buffy looked through her CD collection, trying to find something to suit the holiday mood. "There's that silly song," she murmured, putting the disc into the player and skipping over to the fourth song. Humming along to the music, Buffy walked into the kitchen in search of a bottle of wine and some glasses. She wanted champagne but the red wine Spike had brought a few days ago would work just as well. Rinsing out the crystal fluted glasses, Buffy wiped at the excess moisture with a paper towel before filling them with wine.  
  
When she walked back into the living room, Spike was already sprawled out on the couch. His bare feet were propped against the coffee table and she was glad to see that the black pants she had bought for him fit. Sitting down crossed-legged beside him, Buffy offered him a glass of wine. "Want some," she asked. He tipped his head, "don't know," he said. "Last time you and I drank wine together, I got screamed out for a good part of an hour." Buffy blushed red to the roots of her hair for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, "sorry about that," she mumbled. Chuckling, Spike accepted the glass, "think nothing of it, pet. Just wanted to make sure that you remember this Christmas, something tells me it'll be worth it."  
  
Buffy's blush returned in full-force under his probing gaze. Barely able to conceal his laughter, Spike took another sip of wine to calm himself down. "You alright over there, sweetness," he asked. Buffy nodded emphatically, drawing her knees up to her chin, her fingers pulling the bottom of her pants over her feet. Shaking his head, Spike pushed a present into her hands. They knew better then to ask where all the gifts came from, Spike wasn't ready to admit that he had been planning his trip to New York for months and Buffy couldn't bear to tell him that she had been dreaming of his return for months. It felt better to get swept up in the frenzy of Christmas; tomorrow they could deal with reality, today was all about them. There was something about the holiday that made Buffy believe that anything was possible, that people could fall in love and spend their entire lives together.  
  
The carefully wrapped gift in her hands brought Buffy back from the magical world of sugarplum fairies and glittering snowflakes made of candy. "You going to open it," Spike asked, peering over the edge of his wine glass at Buffy. He had almost forgotten how much she loved Christmas. There was something about this day that made life simpler for a while, giving life a magical glow; if only for a few hours, Spike could indulge in foolish dreams and sentimental nonsense about true love and happily ever after.  
  
The sound of paper tearing brought Spike back from his thoughts. Shaking his head, he turned towards Buffy, watching as she ripped the paper off the DVDs he had bought. "Oh Spike, this is awesome," she exclaimed. "It's all my favorite Audrey Hepburn movies: My Fair Lady, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Roman Holiday, and Sabrina." Leaning over, she pecked him on the cheek, "thank you so much." Slightly embarrassed, Spike shook his head, concentrating on the terribly interesting pattern on Buffy's rug. "Here, you open one," Buffy insisted as she read about the special features included on each disk, never looking up.  
  
Sighing heavily in mock aggravation, Spike looked at the pile of gifts in front of him. "Hand one to me," he pleaded, "don't want to mess up any kind of secret organizational system." Buffy stuck out her tongue, passing him a rectangular box, "smartass," she quipped, settling back into the sofa. Sliding the paper off the box, Spike reached inside the cardboard and pulled out a black sweater. Holding it up to his chest, he nodded approvingly, "very nice." Buffy's smile widened, "I couldn't resist," she said, "it was so soft and I just thought of you." She trailed off, not really sure how to explain how the black wool sweater seemed so perfect, it just screamed "Spike!"  
  
"It's great," Spike said, re-folding the sweater before sliding another box in Buffy's direction. "Good for all the cold winters," he said, unwittingly hinting at one of his surprises. If Buffy noticed, she didn't say anything, concentrating instead on the yards of ribbon woven intricately around the round gift box. After a few moments of struggling to untie the knots, she groaned in frustration, pulling the ribbon apart with a snap. "Being neat took too long," she said apologetically, taking off the box top to reveal a glass sphere. Taking it out of the cradle of tissue paper and foam peanuts, Buffy gasped as the green swirls seemed to move before her eyes, small flecks of gold inside the sculpture catching the light. "Spike, this is beautiful," she whispered. He smiled self-consciously, "glad you like it. Reminded me of your eyes, couldn't resist gettin' it." Buffy's cheeks pinked at the thoughtful gesture and she got off the sofa to put the sculpture on her mantle. "That looks amazing," she said, more to herself then Spike, before sitting back down beside him.  
  
"Open this next," Spike said, dropping a red and gold striped box in her lap. "Ohmigosh," Buffy exclaimed, throwing the lid on the floor as she pulled a red bathrobe out of the box. She looked at Spike excitedly, "it's gorgeous!" Slipping it on over her shirt and sweatpants, Buffy did an experimental pirouette amidst the piles of gifts and wrapping paper, twirling like a ballerina. She stopped in front of Spike, the red silk shimmering in the lamplight. "How do I look?" Spike glanced up at her, ready to tell her how adorable she looked, but when his eyes fell on Buffy he couldn't figure out how to form the words.  
  
Granted, she looked absolutely ridiculous with the expensive bathrobe draped over her sweatpants, but there was something about her that made him freeze. Her eyes were glittering and the smile on her face was wider then any Spike remembered seeing from his brief time in the City. The only other time he had seen her look so beautiful was the night they ran into each other at Amici. Of course, she looked breathtaking and stunning every time they went out or he saw her, but in that moment it was like Spike was falling in love with her all over again. "Amazing," he choked out, finishing his glass of wine before she could say anything else. Buffy smiled, feeling luxurious in her new bathrobe as she sank back into the couch. "Here, open this one next," she directed, pushing a box in Spike's direction.  
  
They kept exchanging gifts, stopping to trade bits of commentary and reasoning about each present until Spike came to his last present. He turned the heavy present, which he suspected to be a book, over in his hands. "Why don't you go first," he suggested, gesturing to the small bag sitting in front of Buffy. She wrinkled her forehead in confusion, trying to guess what could be in the silver and gold shopping bag. Pulling out all the layers of light blue paper, Buffy looked at the envelope in her hands. Turning to face Spike, she asked, "what's this." He didn't reply and she ripped open the seal, taking out two typed pieces of paper. Her eyebrows knit in confusion as she read and re-read the words to herself, trying to make sense of everything. "I don't think I understand," she stammered. Spike smiled, "it's my resignation. I sent it to the Dean of Students right after I got to New York." She looked up at him, her eyes blazing with questions. Before she could say anything, Spike had her hands in his, staring intently into her green eyes.  
  
Under his piercing gaze, time seemed to crawl to a stop until all that mattered was this moment. Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she looked down at Spike, willing him to say something, to explain why he was leaving his job in Australia. Somehow the millisecond pause was allowing enough room for the icy fingers of insecurity and doubt to curl around her heart. Spike stared up at her, his gaze a mixture of reverence and desire. "Buffy," he began, finding his voice after what felt like an eternity of silence, "I couldn't go back to the University. I couldn't leave you again."  
  
Clenching his fists tightly, Spike fought the verses of poetry that threatened to spill out of his mouth. Tipping her head in his direction, Buffy looked at him questioningly. His next words were the last thing she had expected. "I love you," Spike said, "and you know, I never really understood it till now." Too stunned to say anything, Buffy just stared at him in shock, waiting for him to continue. He paused, trying to collect his thoughts into a way that wouldn't frighten Buffy with its emotional intensity. "I mean I always thought that love was passion, fiery and dangerous, this tornado that takes over your life and turns it upside down until you don't bloody know which way is up. But then I look at you and it's not all about fire. there's something else."  
  
Looking up to see if he was getting through to her, Spike plunged recklessly ahead, "you're everything to me, sweetheart. I look at you and suddenly everything makes sense. You're the one, Buffy, the only one for me. And if I have to spend a lifetime proving it to you, then I will. But I promise, precious, I'm not going to give up." Tears welled up behind Buffy's eyes but she couldn't tear away from his gaze. Spike enveloped Buffy in his arms, pulling her body against his, "I love you," he whispered in her ear. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Buffy allowed her body to melt into his, "I love you too." She turned her head, resting her cheek on his shoulder, "so you're staying in New York?" Spike nodded, leaning down to kiss her forehead, "yeah, luv, I'm staying." Buffy smiled, "just making sure." 


	16. If You Want Something Done Right

"That's the last one," Spike proclaimed as he dropped a black duffel bag on the hardwood floor. From her perch on the sofa, Buffy stared at Spike over the rim of her steaming coffee cup. "Do you have enough shit," she asked, her face expressionless. Spike opened his mouth, ready to protest that his duffel bag, a computer bag and a suitcase did not count as a lot of stuff, when compared with the clutter of a certain someone's apartment. Laughing, Buffy put her coffee back on the table so she could help Spike move the bags out of her entranceway. "I'm just teasing." Spike let out a growl, grabbing Buffy's wrist and pulling her against his chest. "You're bloody hilarious," he said between clenched teeth, trying his best to sound annoyed. Buffy turned in his arms, "I know," she chirped, disentangling herself from his embrace.  
  
"Do you want all this in the bedroom," she asked, picking up his duffel bag and carrying it down the hall. "I don't know," Spike groaned in exasperation, feeling completely overwhelmed, "this is your apartment." Buffy's head re-appeared from around the corner, "well, I put the suitcase there when you went down to get this. So I guess we can just leave it all on the floor. And then after this weekend, we can move some of it into the closet in the guest bedroom." Spike shrugged, "whatever works best, pet." He stole a sip of Buffy's coffee, "you sure that this is alright? Don't want you to feel like I'm rushing you into anything."  
  
It was a combination of slayer speed and emotion that got Buffy from the bedroom to the living room in the metaphorical blink of an eye. Before Spike could swallow his coffee, she was standing in front of him, her hands resting on her hips, an indignant look on her face. "Okay, Spike, we need to get a couple things straight," she snapped. "One, this is most definitely alright. Two, this was my idea, remember? It's stupid for you to pay for a hotel room when you're always here. And I know you don't mind, that you're like insanely rich and don't care about things like that, but it bugs me. So can we chill with the 'rushing into things'? And besides, I don't remember us setting a timetable up.you know, meet one day, go for coffee two days later, six hours later share a kiss.that's not our thing." Spike looked down at the carpet, knowing that Buffy was right but not wanting to admit that to her. She trailed off, "so can we just go with this? No matter how wiggy it is?" He nodded, "ignoring all aspects of wiggyness."  
  
Spike stopped abruptly, shaking his head, "bloody hell woman! I'm starting to talk like you!" Buffy just giggled, not wanting to tell Spike that he had been adopting her slang for weeks. As long as he didn't comment on her stealing phrases like "bloody hell," and "shagging," she wasn't going to talk about his Buffy-speak. "No biggie," she said, clearly bored with the conversation.  
  
"So what time is the Nibblet getting in," Spike asked, falling onto the sofa, his feet propped up on the coffee table. Buffy took her mug away from his scuffed boots, shooting them a murderous look. "Around seven," she said, drawing out the word, trying to remember if that was what time Dawn arrived at the airport or if that was what time they needed to pick her up. Fairly certain that her flight was landing at seven, Buffy repeated herself. Spike nodded, "got a few hours to spare, luv." He cocked his scarred eyebrow in Buffy's direction, a devilish gleam in his eyes. Buffy backed away from the couch, "Spike, I have to get changed, I don't have time to..I have a cup of coffee here..don't make me spill it..well..I guess.yeah.we have time..but not too lo-."  
  
Standing in the crowded airport, Buffy glanced at her watch for what felt like the hundredth time. She sighed in frustration, the minute hand had barely moved since the last time she checked. "What time is it," Spike asked, leaning casually against a pillar, wishing that he had a cigarette. "7:12," Buffy replied, gnawing nervously on her nail, "her flight was supposed to be here at seven, where is she?" He chuckled softly, "don't worry about it, pet, she'll be here." Buffy exhaled noisily, "I know, it's just I haven't seen Dawn in like ever. It's been like three months and I'm excited." Rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, Buffy tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, too impatient to stand still. "She'll be here for a week, pet, you'll have lots of time to see her," Spike said. Sighing in exasperation, Buffy looked at him with a how-dense-can-you-possibly-be stare. "Six days, not counting today, and only five nights" she corrected. "Her flight back to Colorado is on the ninth, and she said her classes start on the eleventh."  
  
Shrugging his shoulders, Spike stepped away from the pillar as the arrival of Dawn's flight was broadcasted through the terminal. He already knew her flight schedule, Dawn had e-mailed him after talking to Buffy. Her white lie about wanting to spend time with her sister may have fooled Buffy but Spike knew better. He knew that Dawn had an ulterior motive for flying across the country; she wanted to play matchmaker between Buffy and Spike, saying something in her e-mail about "getting maximum sparkage". Not that he was really complaining about Dawn coming to the City, without her telling him to stop whining about everything he had done wrong, Spike would still be sitting alone in Australia.  
  
As the loudspeaker rattled off the gate numbers for any connecting flights, Buffy cast a sideways look at Spike. She didn't know how to tell him that Dawn wasn't coming to New York to relax before the start of the semester, nor was she coming to spend time with her sister out of the goodness of her heart. The truth was, Dawn knew Spike was in New York; the day after Christmas, Buffy had sent her a long e-mail, spilling out almost every detail of their new relationship. Always the matchmaker, Dawn had called Buffy that same afternoon to tell her that she had booked a flight to New York. "I'm not just going to leave the two of you alone," Dawn had protested, "my classes don't start until the middle of the month, so I'm coming out for a couple of days. We'll get some major sparkage between you guys. I mean, hello, it's been like forever since you two have been in the same country, much less the same state. There's no way I'm going to let you take matters into your own hands again, that's what got you two into such a terrific mess last time." Even though Buffy had tried to convince Dawn that there was plenty of "sparkage" between her and Spike, the younger Summers sister wouldn't listen. "And don't even try to talk me out of it, because I'm coming and that's final," Dawn warned before she hung up the phone, displaying a fierce determination that was rivaled only by her sister's stubbornness.  
  
The crowd of people swelling around the formerly empty gate tore Buffy from her thoughts. She stood up straighter, smoothing invisible wrinkles out of her cranberry-colored peacoat and brushing nonexistent lint from her jeans. A willowy brunette appeared at the head of the hallway leading off the plane, her shoulder-length hair falling in loose wisps around her face. Brown eyes lit up and she darted through the crowd of people, clutching her carry-on bag and sweater tightly in one hand. "Buffy," she squealed, dropping her bag and flinging her arms around her petite sister. "Dawnie," Buffy cried with equal excitement, tears stinging the back of her green eyes, as she hugged her sister tightly.  
  
Spike just stared at the sisters in awe; he hadn't seen Dawn in almost four years and it was amazing how different she looked, pictures didn't do her justice. But when her eyes locked onto his and her arms went into a death grip around his neck, Spike knew that she was still his Nibblet. Her brown eyes were filled with tears, a few stray droplets making their way down her lightly tanned cheek. "It's so great to see you," she said, her words muffled against Spike's shoulder. He tightened his hug, "missed you li'l bit."  
  
When they finally broke apart, tears were streaming freely down her face and even Spike's eyes looked glassy. Buffy wiped the streaks of mascara off her face, giggling at the black smudges pooled in the corners of Dawn's chocolate eyes. Dawn stuck her tongue out at Buffy before she swiped at the worst of the makeup. Wrapping an arm around her sister's waist, Buffy asked, "want to get your luggage and get out of here?" Dawn nodded, looping one arm around Buffy's arm and the other around Spike's. "Let's go." If he was surprised by Dawn's actions, Spike didn't show it, his face an impassive mask as the trio made their way through the organized chaos of the airport.  
  
Almost an hour later, Spike kicked the apartment door closed with his foot, dropping a flowered suitcase on the hardwood floor with a loud thud. "Let's just leave Spike with the luggage," he grumbled, dragging a matching tote bag across the entranceway, "he doesn't mind picking up bags that weigh a few tons. No, it's no bloody trouble at all. I'll just drag all this through the airport like a pack mule, load it all into the taxi. You two just catch up, forget I'm even here. Never mind that the bloody sidewalk is covered with ice and the damn curb's buried under a snowdrift that could hide a body. No, don't offer to help, just let the vampire fall and break his neck. He doesn't mind."  
  
Identical expressions of innocence met his angry gaze, endless pools of green and brown staring back at him from the sofa. "Are you okay," Buffy asked as Dawn got off the couch to pick up her carryon bag. "We're sorry," the brunette said apologetically and Buffy let out a short laugh. "He just wants sympathy," she said, "the big baby." Spike growled, dropping the tote bag on the floor. Stalking over to the sofa, he bent down until his nose was a hairbreadth away from Buffy's. She stared back at him, a defiant look in her eyes, daring him to say something. Instead of the Big Bad master vampire sarcastic barb she had expected, Spike captured her lips in a passionate kiss, completely oblivious to Dawn's presence.  
  
They kissed for several moments until Buffy remembered that her little sister, her impressionable baby sister, was standing in the same room. "Spike, stop," she said breathlessly, her palms spayed against his chest, putting space between their bodies, "Dawn's standing right here." At the mention of her name, Dawn giggled, "hello? Not a little girl anymore." Spike raised an eyebrow, silently challenging her to continue that particular train of thought. Realizing that this was nowhere near the right time to assert her independence and maturity, Dawn snapped her mouth shut. Nodding in approval, Spike sat down beside Buffy on the sofa, his fingers intertwined with hers. Dawn's eyes lit up at the sight of them together, "you guys are too cute," she said softly, before turning her attention back to the bags sitting on the floor. "I'll be right back, gotta go put these in the guestroom. Can I trust you two to keep your hands off each other for three minutes?" Buffy giggled and she replied, "yes Mommy," in a singsong voice. Dropping his head over the back of the couch, Spike groaned. "Women," he lamented, causing Buffy and Dawn to break out into a fit of giggles. "Men," they replied in unison and Spike groaned again. 


	17. Family

Rain poured down relentlessly outside, large droplets tapping on Buffy's bedroom window as she studied the outfits draped across her bed. Her apartment was a flurry of activity; she was trying to get dressed without having a complete panic attack, Dawn was doing her makeup and talking on her cell phone to Lawrence, and Spike was staying in the kitchen until both women were ready to leave. Buffy let out a strangled cry of exasperation, crumpling up her black velvet skirt and hurling it across the room. She had been trying on clothes for the last hour and nothing looked right; her closet had exploded all over the bedroom and she still couldn't figure out what to wear out to dinner.  
  
In the kitchen, Spike closed his laptop and replaced it inside his briefcase. Checking the clock on the microwave, he let out a long deep breath. "Patience," he murmured, trying to remember why he had thought that taking both Buffy and Dawn out to dinner and a show was a good idea. Leaving the computer bag on the kitchen table, he walked through the apartment towards the guest bedroom. The sisters had less then half-an-hour to finish getting ready if they wanted to make their dinner reservation, but Spike knew that there was no way his girls would leave until they were one-hundred percent ready.  
  
Knocking on Dawn's open door, Spike leaned inside the brightly lit room. "You almost ready," he asked softly, her back was facing the doorway and Spike didn't know if she was still on the phone with her boyfriend. Out of all the guys Dawn had told him about, this one seemed the least idiotic; Spike was still threatening to inflict bodily harm on the guy if he dared to break her heart. Dawn turned around on the bed, holding a compact mirror in one hand and a black-tipped pencil in the other. Tracing her eyes with the eyeliner, Dawn smiled at Spike. "Yeah, just need a few more minutes to perfect the makeup." He shook his head, "I'm not even going to pretend that I understand what you're doing." Dawn shrugged, putting the pencil back in her makeup case and pulling out a tube of mascara. "Just smile and nod and tell me I look awesome." Leaning against the doorframe, Spike flashed Dawn his signature smirk. "That I can do, Nibblet. Long as you return the favor of course."  
  
Dropping the silver tube onto the bedspread, Dawn stood up to face Spike. She lifted her right hand, spinning her index finger around in the air, indicating that Spike should turn around. "Very nice," she said, resisting the urge to whistle under her breath. Spike smiled, "glad you approve," silently congratulating himself on his suit. The navy blue material of the jacket clung to his shoulders, fitting well without being overly snug. His pants were made of the same expensive material, a sharp crease down the center of each leg, showing off his muscular build without being tight in the wrong places. Underneath the jacket was a white button-up shirt, the top button open until the last possible moment. Spike had ordered the suit months ago, from a skilled tailor in Australia, but he had been saving it for the perfect occasion. Taking his two favorite girls out to dinner and a show seemed like the perfect time to bring out the navy suit, and judging from the admiring look on Dawn's face, Spike had made the right choice.  
  
Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his pants, Spike tipped his head to the side, studying Dawn's dress. It was a mixture of chocolate brown and golden fabric, swirling together in an intricate pattern. The dress fell off her shoulders, the soft material resting just below her collarbone, gliding down her soft curves and stopping just above her ankle. Her dark hair was swept up in a complicated-looking knot, wispy strands delicately framing her face. Dawn wrinkled her forehead, arching an eyebrow in Spike's direction. "Does this meet with your approval," she teased. Spike nodded slowly, "you look wonderful." He paused, "not used to seeing you look so grown up," he practically whispered. Dawn's eyes burned with tears and she pressed her fingers underneath them to catch her mascara before it could run. "Don't you dare make me cry," she ordered, dabbing at the makeup with a tissue. Spike shook his head, "wouldn't dream of it."  
  
"I hate to interrupt the tender Hallmark moment here, but don't we have a dinner to go to?" Dawn and Spike turned around to face Buffy who was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. She had finally decided on a ruby red corset-style top with intricate silver embroidery that left the creamy skin of her chest and upper back exposed. A long skirt in the same ruby material cascaded around her legs in a slight bell shape, leaving Buffy a vision in red. Spike's jaw dropped open; he loved to see Buffy in red and this dress had left him completely speechless. Dawn's eyes bulged out, she had never seen her sister in something so dainty, the dress was almost Victorian inspired and she wondered if Buffy had bought it with Spike in mind.  
  
Buffy smiled, oblivious to the thoughts racing through Dawn's mind and the images in Spike's. "What? You guys told me to be ready by six. It's five fifty-eight; I'm a minute and a half early." Spike crossed the room towards Buffy, "sweetheart, I'm just amazed that you can spend two hours throwing clothes in a heap and then show up all ready to go, with a few minutes to spare. And you look absolutely gorgeous." Buffy stuck her tongue out at Spike from between her red-glossed lips, glad he liked her new dress. "Well, are we ready," she pressed, walking out into the living room with Dawn and Spike close behind.  
  
Tapping the toe of her boot impatiently against the beige carpeting that covered the floor of the dressing room; Buffy glanced around the store, amazed that more people weren't shopping on such a beautiful day. Looking back at the fitting room mirror, she shifted the small pile of clothes in her arms; Buffy started tapping her right foot louder, sighing impatiently. Dawn had been in the narrow stall for almost fifteen minutes, slowly working her way through the massive heap of clothes she had picked up. "Are you almost done," she asked the closed burgundy curtain, picturing her sister twirling around in front of the mirror. Dawn stuck her head out the side of the curtain, "just two more shirts," she said. Sighing dramatically, Buffy pushed her purse farther up her shoulder, flipping her blonde hair away from the leather strap. "Okay," she muttered, willing Dawn to hurry up so they could go to the next store.  
  
"All ready," Dawn chirped, pushing the curtain aside with her free hand. A large pile of clothes was balanced precariously in her arms, her face glowing with the excitement of shopping. Buffy raised a golden eyebrow in her sister's direction, "you're getting all of it," she asked incredulously. Nodding, Dawn plopped a few hangers back on the discarded clothes rack before walking out of the dressing room. "Most of it," she said and Buffy muttered something about insane shopping habits. Standing in line for the cash register, Dawn turned to face Buffy, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "Besides, I haven't shopped like this in ages. Some things are just better in New York." Buffy nodded, "understandable. But you know I'm just teasing you, right?" A low snort of laughter was her answer as Dawn placed the armload of clothes on the counter in front of her.  
  
Ten minutes later, Dawn pushed open the glass door of the store, squinting in the bright sunlight. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, she shifted her shopping bags around until they were all digging into one wrist. With her free hand she rummaged through her oversized purse in search of her sunglasses. Buffy stood in front of her, patiently watching her sister paw through her woven bag as she struggled under the weight of her shopping bags. Being the experienced shopper that she was, Buffy had consolidated all of her small bags, leaving only six bulging bags digging into the tender skin of her hands.  
  
Turning around to face her sister, designer black sunglasses perched on the edge of her nose, Buffy raised a questioning eyebrow. "You alright over there Dawnie?" Looking up from the mess inside her purse, Dawn had to bite back a giggle at the sight of her sister. Buffy's long hair was wind tousled, her leather coat swirling around her petite frame, a small purse clutched under her arm, black tinted oval lenses covered her eyes and her smile seemed to light up the mild winter afternoon. She looked like some famous celebrity who had just stopped in the City for a day of shopping, not someone who spent almost ten years saving the world from apocalypse after apocalypse. "What," Buffy asked, feeling self-conscious under her sister's piercing gaze, oblivious to the moment of clarity that Dawn was having.  
  
"Nothing," Dawn said, shaking her head absently as she pulled a pair of tortoiseshell frames out of her bag. "Found 'em," she chirped, trying to avoid the crowd of people that had suddenly swelled around them. Rolling her eyes at the look of shock on Dawn's face, Buffy grabbed her sister's free hand, guiding her through the crowded sidewalk. Waiting for the light to turn green, Buffy glanced at her watch. "It's almost three-thirty," she exclaimed, her jaw dropping in amazement. Dawn turned to look at Buffy, "no way, it can't be that late." Holding the watch in front of Dawn's face, Buffy said, "well it is. We've been shopping for like six hours." They crossed the street quickly, heading in the general direction of Buffy's apartment. "Now that's what I call a good day," Dawn said, "I can't wait to get back to your place and look at all our stuff." Shaking her head, Buffy stopped in front of Starbucks and opened the door for Dawn, gesturing for her to go inside. "You're insane," she said, giving Dawn a light push in the back.  
  
Buffy scowled in mock-annoyance as her sister stared in awe at the wide array of coffee-based drinks on the overhead menu. "Don't you people have Starbucks," she teased, knowing that Dawn's small college town had probably never even heard of gourmet coffee, much less Starbucks. Sticking her tongue out, Dawn giggled, "we can't all be cosmopolitan socialites." Buffy screwed up her face, "a world of no. Anyway, what d'you want? Coffee's on me, gotta treat my poor deprived sister right." Dawn flipped her hair out of her eyes, "brat," she said with a completely straight face. Her brown eyes glittered with laughter when she looked back at Buffy, "You know you're gonna miss me when I go back tomorrow."  
  
Buffy nodded, not ready to think about her sister flying back to Colorado, it seemed like she had just flown in. Before the prickling sensation in the back of her eyes could swell into tears, Buffy gave Dawn a shaky smile. "My apartment's going to be too quiet," she teased as they moved up in line. Cocking her head in Buffy's direction, Dawn smirked, "yeah, sure. Tell Spike, I'm sure he'd be more then willing to blast some of his God-awful music." Buffy giggled, "anything but that," she pleaded half-heartedly.  
  
The streets were filled with cars when Buffy and Dawn left the coffee shop, steaming paper cups balanced in their free hands. "Want to walk back or take a cab," Buffy asked, hoping that Dawn said cab. "Cab," her sister chirped, glad that Buffy hadn't suggested walking all the way back to her apartment. Inside the cramped backseat of the taxi, Dawn turned to Buffy, a serious look on her face. "I know you're probably tired of hearing me say this," she began, zipping the pendant of her necklace back and forth across the chain. "But I'm really glad you and Spike worked everything out." Buffy broke into a wide smile, "me too. I mean, I thought it was going to be really weird, but it's not. And now that he's staying in New York, we have so much more time to.figure stuff out."  
  
Dawn nodded, "I know. Last night he couldn't stop talking about all the great ideas he has for his new book. I think we were up until like two just talking about it. He's thinking about making the main character a poet and a total oxymoron, one of those bad-ass exterior guys with a huge chip on his shoulder and this gooey sensitive soul that no one expects. Especially not the emotionally closed off, drop-dead gorgeous woman that he somehow runs into and ends up falling in love with, even though she has this terrible history with men." She broke into a huge smile, "sound familiar," Dawn teased. Buffy's eyes widened comically, "no," she pouted, even though Spike had already told her about his characters and how they were going to be remarkably similar to another pair of headstrong blondes. "Liar," Dawn said, "but that's okay."  
  
The cab pulled up in front of Buffy's building and she handed the money to the driver, "thanks a lot." He nodded, waiting for them to unload their shopping bags before pulling back into traffic. Once everything was out of the trunk, the sisters exchanged knowing smiles as they looked at the mass of shopping bags. "Spike's going to flip when he sees how much we bought," Dawn said, her voice ringing with laughter, as she leaned over to pick up her bags. Buffy nodded, "definitely," she agreed, grabbing her own bags before they could fall open on the sidewalk.  
  
Spike was sitting in the living room when the apartment door swung open. His feet were propped up against the coffee table, his laptop resting on his thighs as his fingers danced over the keys. He looked up from the open document, tilting his head back to smile at Buffy and Dawn without getting up. His blue eyes widened, watching the two women struggle to maneuver all their bags into the apartment without having to make more then one trip or spill their coffee. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, saving the open document and placing the laptop on the tabletop. "Did you two have fun," he asked in a normal voice, getting off the sofa and moving towards Buffy and Dawn who were staring at the sea of shopping bags at their feet. Sipping her coffee, Dawn nodded emphatically, "it was awesome," she squealed, her body's energy level surging from the rush of sugar and caffeine. He grinned, "that's good," leaning over the bags to gently kiss Buffy's lips. Long pale fingers wrapped around her coffee cup before her trembling hands spilled the luke-warm liquid all over her rug.  
  
He took a long swallow of the coffee, never breaking eye contact with Buffy and she blushed under his smoldering gaze. "So what'd you two get," he asked, turning his head towards Dawn, his eyes never leaving Buffy's. Dawn sighed dramatically, picking up her shopping bags and moving towards the sofa. "If you two stop making googly-eyes, I'll show you," she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite her best efforts to sound angry. Buffy took Spike's hand, stepping gracefully over her shopping bags and pulling him towards the couch. He sat down on the armchair opposite the couch, giving Dawn plenty of room to show off her new clothes. Without even a second thought, Buffy sat down in his lap, leaning her exhausted body against his muscular chest, her head resting on his shoulder as they watched Dawn unpack the bags. 


	18. Happiness

"Are you sure you have everything," Buffy asked, gnawing anxiously on her lower lip. Dawn sighed in exasperation, rolling her brown eyes dramatically. "For the last time, I'm almost twenty-three years old; I think I know how to pack a suitcase," she snapped. Buffy had been asking her the same questins for what felt like forever, and Dawn's already paper- thin patience was at a breaking point. Clearing his throat quietly, Spike shot a pointed glare at the younger woman, his blue eyes piercing through her. Dawn swallowed hard, hating to be on the receiving end of Spike's trademark glare of disapproval even for a moment. She hastily added, "but I doubled checked before we left the apartment."  
  
Buffy nodded, her head bobbing back and forth like a puppet. She hadn't even noticed Dawn's attitude nor had she caught Spike's intervention, all Buffy could thingk about was saying good-bye to her sister. Even though Dawn was only going to Colorado, it still felt like there were a million miles between the sisters instead of a few thousand. Their lives were so different and there never seemed to be enough time; she had loved having Dawn stay with her for a week, it gave them the chance to hang out just like they had when they all lived in Sunnydale. A loud voice came over the intercom, announcing that Dawn's non-stop flight to Colorado was about to begin boarding. Glancing at his watch, Spike tipped his head in Dawn's direction as people began to move towards the gate.  
  
"Well, I better get going," Dawn said, hating to leave Buffy and Spike, but still anxious to go home. Stepping over her bag, Dawn stood in front of the blonde couple. She hugged Spike first, pressing her cheek against the cool leather of his coat. "Bye," she whispered as they pulled apart, Spike pressing a brotherly kiss on her cheek. "Have a safe trip Nibblet," the blonde vampire said, "call if you need anything." Dawn smiled, turning towards Buffy to wrap her in a crushing hug. "Thanks for letting me crash for a while," she said, trying to lighten the melancholy mood that had permeated the air surrounding them. Buffy smiled, "anytime," she chirped. Kissing her sister's cheek, Dawn stepped back to look at her family before picking up her bag. Spike had wrapped his arm around Buffy's shoulders and her left arm was woven around his waist. Dawn smiled, she was so glad that Buffy and Spike had worked everything out and that her family was back in one piece.  
  
She draped her coat over the handle of her carryon and waved at Buffy and Spike with her other hand. Moving towards the short line of people getting on the plane, she paused to look back at the couple. "I'll call you later," she told her sister, "so you know I got back alright." Buffy nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears, "bye Dawnie." Tightening his grip on Buffy's shoulders, Spike raised his free hand to wave at Dawn. She wiggled her fingers in another good-bye wave before turning away from them. The crowd of travelers seemed to swell around the blonde couple and Spike looked down at Buffy. "You ready to go," he asked. She nodded, slipping her hand out from beneath the lapels of his duster and interlacing her fingers with his. "Let's go home," she said.  
  
The grandfather clock in the living room was just chiming one-thirty when Spike pushed open the front door. Buffy followed him into the dimly lit apartment, not even bothering to take off her coat before collapsing onto the over-stuffed living room sofa. "Tired, pet," Spike asked, slipping out of his duster, dropping it over one of the dining room chairs. "Exhausted," she muttered, her voice muffled against the arm she had draped over her face. Crossing the apartment, Spike plopped down on the sofa beside Buffy so her head resting against the outside of his denim-covered thigh. She nuzzled his leg, trying to find a comfortable position on the couch, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. He moved her head onto his lap, her left cheek pressed against the rough material of his jeans. Buffy curled her legs underneath her body, leaning against the back cushions of the sofa, her one arm tucked under her chin. "It's been a long week, pet," Spike said, gently smoothing out the long blonde curls that had fallen over his leg. Buffy didn't answer; she was so tired from the past week's never-ending whirlwind of activity that she had fallen right to sleep.  
  
"Now I know this sofa is bloody uncomfortable," Spike said quietly after a few minutes of listening to Buffy's rhythmic breathing. He eased himself off the cushion, not wanting to wake Buffy up as he slid one arm under her lower back and another arm around her bent knees. Swinging the petite blonde into his arms, Spike shifted her until Buffy's head was resting against his chest. Her eyelids fluttered open and Buffy let out a soft murmur of approval before ducking her head back against Spike's black cotton shirt. He smirked, carrying her down the hall towards the bedroom without turning off any of the lights.  
  
Spike didn't even bother to turn on any lights in the bedroom, as he moved across the shadowy room towards the bed. Turning her head, Buffy whispered, "you can put me down now." Smiling, Spike laid his golden goddess onto the plush comforter. She sat up, pulling the hem of her sweater over her head and throwing the black wool garment across the room. Spike raised his scarred eyebrow, surprised at her behavior. Shaking her head, Buffy murmured, "I have to clean this place tomorrow, so I might as well just throw the sweater over there and deal with it later." Her hands drifted down to her boots, yanking the zipper down and kicking her feet out of the confines of black leather.  
  
Suddenly Spike's mouth went dry and all thoughts of sleep flew out of his head. As if she were reading his mind, Buffy smiled coyly in his direction, batting her impossibly long eyelashes up at him, her green eyes staring intnetly. "Are you coming to bed," she asked, her voice low and seductive. Not trusting his brain to form coherent sentences, Spike nodded. Buffy's smile widened, "good," she purred, giving no inclining that she was exhausted beyond belief. "Aren't you going to get undressed?" Spike looked down at his clothes as a pair of blue jeans crossed his line of vision, followed by a pair of socks. Raising her eyebrows expectantly, Buffy patted the spot on the bed beside her in a silent invitation. "I thought you were tired," he protested weakly, slipping out of his long-sleeved shirt and toeing off his shoes.  
  
Buffy's face fell and she turned away from Spike, curling up against the pillow. "Fine," she pouted, her voice almost completely muffled. Spike exhaled loudly, kicking himself for trying to be a concerned boyfriend and ending up an insensitive git who hurt Buffy's feelings. The rest of his clothes fell in a haphazard pile on the floor and Spike slipped into bed beside Buffy, the tips of his fingers tracing the smooth muscles of her back and shoulders. "Go away," she muttered, sliding to the furthest edge of the bed until she was hanging onto the edge. Spike growled, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling Buffy across the bed. He hooked his chin over her shoulder, his body molding to hers. "Don't be angry, sweetness," he murmured, his voice unhinging every nerve in Buffy's body. She shook her head, still trying to maintain her wounded pout. Spike kissed the side of her neck, attaching his mouth to the spot right above the pulse point, sending waves of emotion crashing through her body. Turning around to face Spike, Buffy jutted out her lower lip. "Thought you didn't want me," she pouted. Spike's eyes flashed yellow, "always want you," he growled, "always." She smiled in feminine satisfaction, pulling his face down towards hers for a hungry kiss. "Good," she whispered against his mouth. Always want you too, she thought before Spike's talented lips cut off any more revelations.  
  
When Buffy woke up she was alone in bed, small beams of sunlight casting long shadows through the dark curtains. She lightly traced the indented pillowcase next to her head, her ruby-red fingernails grazing the soft mass of feathers. Burying her face in the pillow, Buffy inhaled Spike's scent, wondering where he was. She stretched lazily, extending her arms over her head like a cat basking in the sun. A contented smile danced over her face and Buffy reached for her new bathrobe, wrapping the dark red silk around her body. She hummed quietly, her feet curling against the cold floorboards of the hallway as she walked into the bathroom. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Buffy grinned widely before picking up her hairbrush. A few quick passes through her almost waist-length hair was all it took to transform the limp strands into a shimmering golden cascade.  
  
I love Sundays, she mused as she walked towards the kitchen. Outside her windows, the snow had almost completely disappeared, leaving the sidewalks and streets clear. The city was just beginning to wake up, hundreds of people leaving their warm beds to greet the sunny day. Buffy's thoughts came to an abrupt halt when she saw the mess in her kitchen.  
  
Even though she hadn't cleaned the apartment in a week, she knew that the kitchen was the only room that didn't need immediate attention. Buffy stood frozen, leaning against the doorframe, surveying the room in horror. Her normally spotless countertops were buried beneath at least two dozen pots, each filled with varying amounts of batter and other bits of powder. The table was covered with plates stacked with pieces of fruit and other tiny bits of food. Dirty towels sat in a pile on the side of the table, resting against an opened box of pancake mix that was covered in a light dusting of flour.  
  
At that moment, Buffy's attention was riveted on the denim-clad legs that were sticking out of her refrigerator. The tight but not too tight jeans gave her a fabulous view of Spike's butt, making her forget about the state of disarray that surrounded them. Clearing her throat loudly, Buffy bit the corners of her mouth, attempting to appear mad about the mess that surrounded them. Spike gave no inclination that he had heard her less-than- subtle entrance, he kept rummaging through the dark recesses of her refrigerator. "Spike... love," Buffy said, her tone light and teasing, "what are you doing?" At the sound of Buffy's musical voice, Spike's head shot out of the refrigerator; his lips curled into an amused smile, blue eyes glittering mischievously. Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow expectantly, trying to conceal her smile.  
  
"Morning," Spike said, crossing the kitchen towards her. Wrapping his arms tightly around Buffy's waist, Spike drew her against his body. "You look gorgeous," he said, "absolute perfection." Leaning his head down towards hers, Spike captured her lips in a passionate kiss. Buffy sighed into his mouth, her tongue dueling with his. Breaking the kiss, Buffy rested her palms against Spike's pectorals, "that isn't going to make me forget about the disaster in here," she said. Spike cocked his scarred eyebrow, "just have to try harder then," he said, bringing his mouth down towards hers. "As much as I love you," Buffy said, playfully ducking her head down to evade his lips, "I'd like to know what you're doing to my kitchen?" He just smiled; wrapping one arm around her hips as the other gently caressed her cheek. "Making you breakfast, sweetheart. If you hadn't gotten up so early, I would've brought it in to you."  
  
"That's sweet," Buffy said, covering Spike's hand with her own. His face twisted, "I may be a lot of things, luv, but sweet is not one of them," he argued. Buffy pursed her lips in mock annoyance, "of course not. No sweetness whatsoever," she said seriously. Sometimes it was more fun to stroke Spike's male ego then it was to argue with him, especially when coffee and kisses were involved. "You're still the Big Bad," Buffy purred, her mouth next to Spike's ear, her warm breath tickling his cheek. He smirked, that devilish grin that melted Buffy's insides to mush. "That's what I thought," he said, moving towards the oven with an almost predatory swagger.  
  
But I still think you're sweet, Buffy thought as she watched his retreating back. Spike turned around when he felt her eyes on him, a questioning look on his face and Buffy raised her eyebrows in her best innocent-of-all- charges expression. Shaking his head, Spike pulled a covered dish out of the oven, "it's almost all done, if you want to go sit down, I'll bring it out." Buffy nodded, toying with the silken sash of her bathrobe, "think I might go back to bed," she said thoughtfully, "get the most of your breakfast in bed idea." Spike nodded, his hand firmly pressed against her lower back, moving her out of the kitchen, "whatever you want sweetheart. Just get out of here." Kissing the top of her head gently, Spike gave Buffy a gently push towards the bedroom, "I'll be right there," he said.  
  
Buffy smiled, her eyes glowing with passion and anticipation as she made her way back through her apartment. She loved when Spike did thoughtful things like making her breakfast; it just confirmed her theory that underneath his Big Bad exterior, Spike was a romantic at heart. Buffy smiled as she walked into the bedroom, not bothering to shut the door behind her. The room was bathed in shadows, navy blue curtains blocking out any trace of sunlight. Smoothing the bed sheets back into place, Buffy fluffed the pillows before slipping back under the comforter. She allowed her eyes to drift shut, a contented smile on her face. "A girl could get used to this," she purred softly.  
  
Back in the kitchen, Spike was putting the finishing touches on his breakfast tray for Buffy. "Alright mate, you can do this," he told himself, trying to summon the courage to not scrap the entire scheme. Pulling a worn velvet box out of his pocket, Spike turned it over in his hands. "This is it," he said, "I can do this." He tugged self-consciously on his black tee- shirt, wondering briefly if he should put on shoes, but realizing that he was just stalling for time. "Here goes nothing," Spike said, making his way out of the kitchen. He walked slowly towards the bedroom, knowing that this was his last chance to back out, to forget his romantic notions and careful planning.  
  
The bedroom door was already open and Spike paused in the doorway to look at his golden goddess. Buffy was still wearing the red robe he had given her, the long sleeves rested atop the comforter, covering her tiny hands. Her long blonde hair spilled over the pillows; just like a princess, Spike thought appreciatively. "Breakfast is served," he said, placing the tray on Buffy's lap. She smiled up at him, "thanks, but what did I do to deserve quality cooking?" He shrugged, slipping into the bed beside her, "eat now, ask questions later."  
  
Buffy didn't need to be told twice, everything looked delicious and she was starving. Her eyes widened as she looked at the food Spike had prepared for breakfast, the tray was practically overflowing with plates and bowls. Fresh fruit filled a crystal goblet, pieces of honeydew and melon mixed with cantaloupe. Three pancakes were stacked on the plate beside them, the butter and syrup cascading over them like a waterfall. An egg-white omelet filled its own plate, pieces of red and green pepper mixed with cheddar cheese garnished the top. Several slices of bread filled a third plate, cut in half and lightly buttered, just the way she like it. A glass of cranberry juice sat on one edge of the tray, a steaming cup of coffee opposite it.  
  
"Who do you think is going to eat all of this," Buffy teased Spike gently, leaning her head against his shoulder. He shrugged, "I'll help." Buffy smiled, sliding her fork through the omelet, "I'll hold you to that." They ate in comfortable silence, Buffy tasting everything and Spike stealing occasional tastes off her plate. Once the last piece of fruit had been polished off and her coffee cup was empty, Buffy moved the tray onto the floor. "That was delicious," she proclaimed, kissing Spike's cheek, "thanks." Spike smiled, "glad you liked it, pet."  
  
Buffy arched a delicate eyebrow, "now, what'd I do to deserve this," she asked, "not that I'm complaining." Biting back a grin, Spike teased, "of course not." He paused, trying to think of the right words, "Buffy, luv, there's something I want to ask you." Buffy looked up at Spike, her green eyes wide and questioning as she watched him reach into the pocket of his jeans. Pulling out a worn velvet box, Spike knelt beside her on the bed, his throat suddenly dry. "I love you sweetheart," he began, opening the case. "Will you marry me?" Buffy's jaw dropped, her gaze was torn between the enormous diamond glittering in front of her and the cerulean depths of Spike's eyes. "What," she asked, her voice a hushed whisper, not really believing what was happening; everything as happening so fast and her mind was still reeling. Spike's eyes shone with love as he pulled the ring out of the box, slipping it onto her left ring finger. "Buffy Summers, will you marry me?"  
  
She didn't answer right away; Buffy's brain was trying to remember how to talk, she was spellbound by the look in Spike's eyes. Pure adoration was reflected in the cerulean depths and the intense emotions caused tears to well up in her own eyes. Realizing that Spike was still waiting for an answer, Buffy cupped his face between her shaking palms, pulling his lips towards hers. She didn't care if they were rushing things, if this was jumping ahead of everything; all she knew was that the man she loved had just asked her to become his wife.  
  
"Yes," she whispered, brushing her lips against his, trying to hold back the flood of tears. Spike broke the kiss for a moment and studied her quizzically. "Are you sure, sweetheart," he asked, gently wiping the moisture off her cheeks, staring intently into her emerald eyes. Buffy laughed at his serious expression, a lilting musical sound that filled the quiet apartment. "Sure, I'm sure," she said, pretending to be put-off by his skepticism. Her stern look lasted for an instant, before Buffy broke into a fit of giggles. She took a deep breath, trying to maintain some kind of composure. "Spike, I love you," she said, her voice ringing with happiness. Wrapping his arms tightly around her body, Spike pulled Buffy against his chest in a crushing embrace, "I love you too. Buffy, love you so much." 


	19. A Few More Days

Looking up at the dreary gray sky, Buffy tugged at the belt of her trench coat, securing the caramel-colored material around her waist. The October breeze was unseasonably warm and she hoped that the mild weather would hold out for another few days. Oblivious to the leaves that were already beginning to turn vibrant red and rich orange hues, Buffy walked through Central Park with a wide smile on her face. Three more days, she thought as she absently twirled her engagement ring. Just seventy-two more hours and she would be getting married. Excitement coursed through her body, her smile widening to a goofy grin. The last seven months had flown past and now just a few days before her wedding, Buffy was practically bursting with anticipation.  
  
She stopped on the concrete path, closing her eyes as the wind swirled around her. Wrapping her arms around her waist, Buffy tilted her head back, letting the wind tousle her blonde hair. Everything felt absolutely perfect; there was nothing that could ruin Buffy's good mood, except the tiny droplet of water splashing off her forehead. She opened her eyes just in time to see sheets of rain pouring down from the cloudy sky. She laughed out loud as the icy torrents of water pelted her face and soaked her clothes. "Dammit," she swore through her giggles, dashing in search of some refugee from the downpour.  
  
Coming out of the Park, Buffy stopped at the curb, her left arm raised. "Taxi," she called, pushing damp strands of hair out of her eyes. A yellow cab pulled up in front of her and Buffy reached for the door handle. She slid into the backseat, slamming the door shut behind her before she told the driver her address. Brushing droplets of water off her coat, Buffy leaned against the seat and watched the buildings flash by. Within a few minutes she was standing in the foyer of her building, waiting for the elevator to come back down from the top floor. An elderly woman stepped into the elevator, shaking her head sympathetically at Buffy's drenched appearance. "Terrible storm, isn't is," she said. Buffy shook her head in agreement, pressing the button for her floor as the elevator doors hissed shut.  
  
Stepping off the elevator, Buffy walked down the hall towards her apartment. Her hand pawed through the contents of her purse, trying to pull out her keys without spilling everything all over the carpet. Sighing in irritation, Buffy leaned against the doorframe, bracing her purse against the wall. "Gotcha," she murmured triumphantly, sticking the key into the lock. Spike was walking into the kitchen when he saw the front door swing open. He turned around, promptly bursting into laughter when he saw Buffy. She stuck her tongue out at him, "that's one hell of a welcome home," she pouted.  
  
Spike ran his fingers over his bleached hair, "sorry sweetheart, but you should see yourself." Laughing, Buffy locked the door, "is it that bad," she asked, making her way over to the mirror hanging on the living room wall. "See for yourself," Spike said, crossing his arms across his chest. "Ohmigosh," she shrieked, dissolving into a fit of embarrassed giggles. Her hair was hanging in stringy clumps around her face, limp tendrils curling against her forehead. The black eyeliner she had carefully applied that morning was ruined, ebony streaks cascading over her cheeks. She giggled again, "I better get changed."  
  
Shaking his head, Spike re-filled his coffee cup before walking back to the study. Sitting back down at the desk, he picked up his red pen and began to read the next essay in the pile. Buffy walked into the room, her makeup scrubbed off and her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, clad in loose- fitting black pants and a fitted white sleeveless shirt. "How was class," she asked, perching on the edge of the desk, watching Spike's pen slash through the typed pages. He didn't answer right away, trying to figure out how some of these students were ever going to get a degree. Looking up from the essay, he dropped his pen onto the pile in front of him. He had taken another teaching position, this time at a small college in the City. This semester he was teaching two classes in British literature and a seminar in romantic poetry. The literature classes were fairly simple and mundane; it was the seminar that was driving him crazy, some of his students thought that a series of disjointed words and unfinished sentences counted as quality poetry. They never thought that their professor actually expected them to write multiple drafts, even at the college level, some people couldn't see the value of revision.  
  
"Not too bad," he said, pushing his chair away from the desk and standing up in front of Buffy. "How was your day?" Buffy giggled, "aside from getting caught in a downpour, it was alright." Spike grinned, wrapping his hands around her waist. "Got everything done," he asked, resting his forehead against hers. Buffy nodded, "yup, I'm officially on vacation for the next two weeks. I'm all yours. At least until everyone gets here, then chaos takes over." Before Spike could say anything, the phone rang. "Bloody hell," he swore, his eyes never leaving Buffy's as he picked up the receiver. "What," Spike snapped into the phone, his frown deepening when he heard a familiar voice. "Fine. Alright .We'll be here .I said we would . her idea, not mine . of course .. I will not- . yeah. Bye."  
  
Buffy raised her eyebrows questioningly, "what was my idea," she asked. Dropping the cordless phone onto the desk, Spike exhaled an unnecessary breath. "Inviting Peaches to the wedding." Buffy pursed her lips in annoyance, "now wait a minute," she began angrily, "I thought we decided that ." In too good of a mood to argue, Spike crushed his lips to Buffy's, his tongue dueling fiercely with hers. "What was I saying," she asked breathlessly when they broke apart. He shrugged, lifting her onto the desk and trailing a line of kisses over her neck, running his fingertips up and down the muscles of her bare arms. Buffy sighed into his neck, tangling her hands in his platinum curls. "I love you," she whispered and Spike looked up in surprise at the unexpected declaration. "Love you too sweetheart," he replied. Buffy's smile widened, "less talking, more kissing," she demanded, pulling Spike's face towards hers.  
  
Almost two hours later, the phone rang again. This time Buffy answered it; she rolled off Spike's chest, reached her arm up onto the desk, feeling around for the receiver without getting off the floor. "Hello?" Her jaw dropped when she heard the irate voice on the other end of the phone. Buffy dissolved into a fit of giggles at the litany of curses flying across the telephone lines, the vampire on the other end was uttering words she had never heard of. "So I'm guessing you don't want to talk to my fiancée then," Buffy teased, "considering he was the one to book your flight." She covered her mouth to suppress her laughter; it wasn't entirely Spike's fault that his grand-Sire's flight from Los Angles to New York had included two flight changes and a layover in Chicago. It also wasn't his fault that the airline had somehow lost Angel's luggage, Spike had no way of knowing that Angel's suitcase would end up in Cleveland, Ohio.  
  
Switching his cell phone from one ear to another, Angel growled in aggravation. "I'll be in the City in less then an hour," he snapped. "See you then," Buffy chirped before hanging up the phone. Leaning back in the seat of the taxi, Angel clicked his phone off and closed his eyes. He still couldn't believe that he had flown across the United States for Buffy and Spike's wedding. Hell, he couldn't believe that Buffy and Spike were talking to each other again, much less actually getting married. It's going to be an interesting weekend, he thought as the highway flashed past the cab's window.  
  
Inside the busy terminal of JFK International Airport, a flight from London had just landed. Passengers spilled off the plane, hurrying down the corridor in search of their next flight gate or moving down towards baggage claim. As they walked out of the airport nearly thirty minutes later, a tall Englishman cleaned his glasses furiously without breaking stride. "I still can't believe it," Giles complained to his wife, "aren't this damn flights supposed to be on time? Don't they have people checking that?" Katherine smiled understandingly, "don't worry about it, Rupert. So we're a few hours later then we expected. On the scale of things that could go wrong, this isn't a big deal." Giles nodded, clasping Katherine's hand tightly as they walked out of the airport. "My voice of reason," he proclaimed, "knew there was a reason I married you." Katherine's dark eyes twinkled, "you just married me to keep your stress level down," she teased with a straight face. Giles shook his head, hoisting the tweed-printed suitcase into the trunk of the taxi parked on the curb. Climbing into the cab, he gave the driver Buffy's address and sunk into the worn leather seats beside Katherine.  
  
Standing in front of the rental car desk in LaGuardia Airport's baggage claim, Xander Harris shifted the heavy duffel bag onto his shoulder, grabbing the handle of a large suitcase with one hand. He picked up another duffel bag in his free hand before turning to face his wife. "Ready," he asked and Anya nodded, anxious to leave the chaos of airport. She pushed the stroller with her left hand, her right was wrapped tightly around the hands of her twin sons. The boys were dragging their feet, they had fallen asleep on the plane and they still hadn't woken up completely. Spotting a large minivan in the nearly empty parking lot, Xander gestured for the attendant to open the trunk. "We'll take that one." He put the suitcases inside the van as Anya secured the twins in the back seat, snapping the baby's car seat into place. Once the entire Harris family was inside, Anya pulled the map they had printed from the Internet out of her purse. "Now the map says that the best way to get to Buffy's apartment is to make a left here," she said, smoothing out the creases. Xander looked at his wife in confusion, "but Ahn, it's a one-way road. I can't make a left turn." She shrugged, crumpling up the printout, "well if you don't want to follow the directions, that's fine. Just don't blame me when we get lost." Shaking his head, Xander turned out of the parking lot, hoping that they made it to Buffy's apartment before the wedding was over.  
  
While Xander was trying to figure out how to get out of the airport parking lot, Willow was transfixed by the view of New Jersey outside the airport's long windows. Beside her, Tara was trying to balance her carryon bag and Michaela's pink suitcase. "Sweetie, can I get a hand here," she asked, pulling the redhead out of her thoughts. Shaking her head, Willow reached her hand out to Michaela, pulling her daughter close to her side. "Sorry baby," she said, "got a little distracted." Tara smiled, shifting the luggage in her arms as they walked out of the airport. Sliding into the taxi, Willow gave the driver Buffy's address. "I can't believe that they're finally getting married," she told Tara, who nodded, smoothing their daughter's strawberry blonde bangs off the center of her forehead. "I know," she said softly, "but it's about time."  
  
"Yeah Buffy, it's me," Dawn said, "my flight just landed . Yeah, I'm in Philadelphia. I should be at your apartment in about two hours . Alright, see you then." Snapping her phone shut, Dawn leaned forward to look out the window of the sedan. "About two hours, right," she asked the driver, sinking back into the seats. The heavy-set woman nodded, "yes ma'm. Might be faster if I don't hit too much traffic." Dawn shut her eyes, exhausted from her long day. "Take your time," she said, "I'm going to be the last one there anyway. Least I know they can't start without me."  
  
The grandfather clock in Buffy's apartment read a little after three when Dawn finally dragged her suitcase through the door. She stood in the foyer, too dazed by the activity to say anything. The penthouse was filled with people, making the spacious living room seemed more cozy then normal. "Here, I'll take your stuff," Buffy told her sister, pulling Dawn's coat off her shoulders. Slipping her arms out of the sleeves, Dawn just nodded as the Scoobies surged around her. Everyone except Dawn was staying in the hotel down the street, but for right now the entire group was together under one roof.  
  
Willow pressed a glass of wine into the brunette's hand, brushing an air kiss against her cheek. "Sit down," she insisted, gesturing to the empty space on the sofa. Dawn smiled, "thanks," she said, sitting down beside Anya. Somehow the two women managed to squeeze over enough to fit Tara on the end of the couch. Willow sat down on the floor, resting her re-filled glass on the coffee table. Across from her, Angel was sitting stiffly in one of Buffy's dining room chairs. Giles and Katherine were also suffering quietly in the terribly uncomfortable chairs, pretending that the cushions weren't as hard as concrete. Xander had plopped on the floor after checking on the kids who were asleep in the guest bedroom. He stretched out his legs, taking a long sip of his iced tea and grinning at Dawn. Spike was sitting comfortably in the armchair, a half-empty glass of wine in his hand as he waited for Buffy to come back into the room. She breezed into the living room, having deposited Dawn's suitcase in the study, and sat down in Spike's lap.  
  
"I'm so glad you guys are all here," she squealed with excitement. Spike smiled at his fiancée's enthusiasm, squeezing her hand gently. The temporary lull in conversation caused by Dawn's arrival faded away, and the living room was again filled with four simultaneous conversations. "So how's school this semester," Anya asked Dawn as Tara told Katherine how much she had enjoyed her last book. Xander was trying to convince Willow that her next computer game should be about the Hellmouth, featuring a blonde demon fighter and her band of Slayerettes. Giles was asking Angel if he had seen any interesting demons in LA. "Some things never change," Spike said quietly, shaking his head. He was amazed at how easily everyone fell into cheerful conversations, there was no indication that months had passed since they were all together. Buffy spun around in his lap, raising a questioning eyebrow, "what's up," she asked. "Just thinking," he replied. Buffy smiled as if she had read his thoughts, "I'm so glad that everyone's here." Spike nodded, "I know sweetheart, I know." Buffy rested her cheek against Spike's shoulder, "I love you," she whispered softly under the low hum of conversation filling the room. 


	20. Happily Ever After

Moonlight spilled through the windows of the hotel ballroom, adding to the bright glow blazing from the small lanterns lining the perimeter of the room. Flowers filled the room, roses ranging in color from deep violet to pale pink. The scent from the blossoms was bordering on overpowering, but no one seemed to notice. Chairs filled the narrow hall, flanking a center aisle that was covered in a carpet of white rose petals.  
  
The minister stood at the front of the room, his Bible clutched firmly in his left hand as he surveyed the scene before him. This was going to be one of the more interesting weddings he had ever officiated over; the couple being married was a bit eccentric, he thought. Both the bride and the groom had provided him and the hotel staff with an impressive list of what could not be present or included in the ceremony. When he had tried to explain that crosses and holy water were a fundamental part of the traditional ceremony, both blondes had been horrified. This was just one of the many strange requests that the hotel staff had heard since Miss Summers had called and booked the ballroom for her wedding. Everything about the wedding was tailored specifically to the bride and groom's requests; there was nothing traditional about this ceremony.  
  
Shifting his weight from one foot to another, the minister looked over at the groom. Spike flashed a tight smile at the man before turning back to the double doors that separated the hall from the rest of the hotel. Taking a deep breath, he clenched his jaw tightly, trying to remember the last time he had been so nervous. Nothing in his past had prepared Spike for the anxiety he was feeling; he was hanging in limbo, waiting for the wedding to begin so he could show the entire world how much he loved Buffy.  
  
At the entranceway to the hall, Xander Harris shifted uncomfortably in his tuxedo, straining against the tight bowtie. He looked down the aisle towards Spike, taking a grim satisfaction at the terrified look on the vampire's face. Xander tugged at his tie, he hadn't been this dressed up since his own wedding but he would wear blue polyester if that's what Buffy wanted for hers. Quickly, Xander patted the pocket of his tuxedo, reassuring himself that he still had the rings. Initially against being Spike's best man, he had slowly embraced the role and his duties; which included not losing Buffy and Spike's wedding rings. Spike had given him the rings minutes before the former Scourge of Europe took his place beside the minister. He wasn't taking any chances that the Whelp would somehow lose the platinum bands before the ceremony.  
  
From his position at the head of the aisle, Spike looked out over the audience in amazement. He had never imagined himself getting married, much less in a hotel ballroom with over fifty guests and to the Slayer of all people. Chuckling, Spike forgot about his own discomfort as he watched Xander struggle against tight collar of his dress shirt. He smoothed the sleeves of his own jacket, brushing invisible pieces of lint off the ebony fabric. Spike felt like a fool, dressed up in a tuxedo jacket with a bunch of roses pinned to the lapels, an embroidered vest covering his impossibly white shirt and the God-awful uncomfortable shoes that Buffy had insisted he buy. Despite all of that, Spike had never been happier. A goofy grin spread across his face; he was getting married to the woman he loved, his golden goddess, his Slayer.  
  
Willow appeared at his elbow and smiled cheerily, her red hair pulled up in a loose French twist with a few tendrils framing her face. "Almost ready," she asked, one hand smoothing the front of her lilac dress. Xander nodded, "just waiting for the okay to cue up the musician." Making a face, Willow giggled, "I don't think that you 'cue up' a five piece orchestra," she teased. Xander shrugged, ready to make a witty remark when Dawn appeared beside them. "Buffy's ready," she squealed, excitement radiating off her in waves. Xander nodded, trying to think of Dawn as Buffy's kid sister rather then the gorgeous long-legged brunette in a form-fitting purple dress who was oblivious to the effect her beauty had on men. "So are we ready," Willow asked, snapping Xander from his haze. Dawn bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, "yup," she said, sounding less like a graduate student and more like a giggly teenager.  
  
Soft music wafted through the crowded room and Spike straightened his back, swallowing over the sudden lump in his throat. Xander extended his arm to Dawn and they slowly made their entrance, through the double doors and down the aisle towards the minister and Spike. At the altar, they separated, turning back to face the wide aisle as the music continued to swell. Willow waited until they were halfway down the aisle before beginning her trip over the carpet of rose petals. She smiled at Spike before taking her place beside Dawn, turning to wait for her best friend's entrance. The orchestra's music rose to a beautiful crescendo and an audible gasp spread throughout the room as the bride appeared in the doorway. Buffy smiled widely, taking Giles' arm as she prepared to walk down the aisle.  
  
Giles smiled down at the woman he loved more than a daughter and patted her hand reassuringly. The bride was a vision in white; the strapless gown had a tight corset top embroidered with thousands of tiny rhinestones and beads that sparkled brightly. From the waist down, the bell skirt cascaded over her petite frame with several billowing yards of tulle and crinoline underneath. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun, a large coif of curls at the base of her neck. Buffy had forgone the traditional veil, not wanting to take away from her dress. She carried an enormous bouquet of purple and white roses and a simple diamond pendant hung around her neck. Buffy took a deep breath and smiled at Giles, "ready," she asked. He nodded as the orchestra began the opening notes of "Here Comes the Bride".  
  
Buffy seemed to float down the aisle, her bright smile illuminating the hall, her eyes fixed on Spike. The peroxide blonde vampire smiled, love shining over his sharp features. From the pews their friends watched the passion sparkle between the two as Buffy drew closer. When they reached the end of the aisle, Giles turned to Buffy; his lips lightly grazed her cheek. "Congratulations," he said, squeezing her hand gently. Tears stung Buffy's eyes and she mouthed, "thank you," to Giles before he joined his wife in the pews. Spike extended his hand to Buffy and she stepped up beside to him. As the minister began the ceremony, Buffy tightened her grip on his arm, finally feeling like she was home. 


End file.
